^- 


ROUSSEAU 


'^ht  (§xt^t  Educators 

Edited  by  NICHOLAS  MURRAY  BUTLER 


ROUSSEAU 


AND 


EDUCATION  ACCORDING  TO  NATURE 


BY 

THOMAS    DAVIDSON 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

NEW  YORK        CHICAGO        BOi^TON  ' 


J)3>,J  IJ)  JJ  i 


,e 


^-.\^ 


COPYRIGHT,   1898,   BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


msnny  morse  j?teph 


;ic 


• »  •  * 


PREFACE 

In  my  volume  on  Aristotle  in  this  series,  I  tried 
to  give  an  account  of  ancient,  classical,  and  social 
Education ;  in  the  present  volume  I  have  endeavored 
to  set  forth  the  nature  of  modern,  romantic,  and 
unsocial  Education.  This  education  originates  with 
Rousseau. 

With  much  reluctance  I  have  been  obliged  to  dwell, 
at  considerable  length,  on  the  facts  of  his  life,  in  order 
to  show  that  his  glittering  structure  rests,  not  upon 
any  broad  and  firm  foundation  of  well-generalized  and 
well-sifted  experience,  but  upon  the  private  tastes  and 
preferences  of  an  exceptionally  capricious  and  self- 
centred  nature.  His  Emile  is  simply  his  selfish  and 
unsocial  self,  forcibly  withheld,  by  an  external  Provi- 
dence, in  the  shape  of  an  impossible  tutor,  from  those 
aberrations  which  led  that  self  into  the  "  dark  forest " 
of  misery.  If  my  estimate  of  Rousseau's  value  as  an 
educator  proves  disappointing  to  those  who  believe  in 
his  doctrines,  I  can  only  say,  in  excuse,  that  I  am  more 
disappointed  than  they  are. 

In  preparing  the  present  volume,  I  have  depended 
solely  upon  the  original  sources,  the  works  of  Rousseau 

v 

510037 


vi  PREFACE 


himself,  and  these  I  have  allowed  to  speak  for  them- 
selves. I  owe  a  certain  amount  of  direction,  and  a 
few  dates  and  references,  to  Mr.  Morley's  Rousseau. 


THOMAS  DAVIDSON. 


**  Glbnmorb," 
KsBNE,  Essex  Co.,  N.Y., 
January  31, 1898. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAQB 

Introductory        1 

I.     Ideas  and  Aspirations  current  in  Rousseau's 

Time.  —  Authority,  Nature,  and  Culture  .  3 

ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE 

II.     Formative  Period 24 

III.  Productive  Period 60 

IV.  Rousseau's  Social  Theories       .        .        .        .77 

ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES 

V.     Infancy 97 

VI.     Childhood 113 

Vll.     Boyhood 137 

VIII.     Adolescence 156 

IX.     Youth .178 

X.     Manhood 203 

XI.     Conclusion.  —  Rousseau's  Influence          .        .  211 

Brief  Bibliography         . 245 

Index 247 

vii 


ROUSSEAU 


rsTRODuaroRY 

Thj5  Educational  System  of  B/yaaMAn  forms  an 
integral  piart  of  a  complete  theory,  or  philosophy,  of 
human  life,  individual,  domestic,  social,  economic, 
political,  and  religious.  Thk  theory,  again,  ia  com- 
pounded of  elements  mainly  derived  from  two  sourceij, 
(1)  a  somewhat  incoherent  body  of  ideaa  Mid  a«pira- 
tions  current  in  Eousseau'a  time  and  in  the  centuries 
immediately  preceding  him,  and  (2)  his  own  charac- 
ter, as  formed  by  native  endowment,  education,  and 
experience.  The  latter  source  makes  a  very  lar;^<; 
contribution;  for  among  all  writers  of  influence  there 
is  hardly  one  wliose  personality,  that  is,  whose  feel- 
ings, emotions,  and  tastes,  enter  for  so  much  into  his 
writings,  as  Boosseau's.  He  is,  above  all,  subjective,  ^ 
and,  indeed,  the  apostle  of  subjectivism.  This  is  • 
what  he  stands  for  in  history. 

In  order,  then,  to  understand  the  pedagogics  of 
Bousseau,  we  must  begin  by  making  as  clear  as  pos- 
sible to  ourselves  that  body  of  ideas  axid  aspirations  , 
which  gave  form  and  direction  to  his  thought,  and^  '  | 
thai  consider  his  experience  and  character,  as  furnish- 
ing the  matter  of  the  taine.  Having  done  this,  v/e 
shall  be  in  a  position  to  aeeoimt  for  his  theory  of 


•ft        r  •     •    •  . 


ROUSSEAU 


1^'  human  life,  and  to  see  how  his  system  of  education  is 
conditioned  by  it.  We  shall  then  find  little  difficulty 
in  expounding  that  system  itself,  or  in  distinguishing 
what  is  objective  and,  therefore,  permanent  in  it,  from 
that  which,  being  due  to  transitory  notions  or  per- 
y  sonal  tastes,  is  subjective  and  temporary.  Finally, 
^  and  with  this  distinction  in  our  minds,  we  shall  be 
able  to  trace  the  effect  of  Eousseau's  thought,  as  a 
whole,  upon  subsequent  theory  and  practice,  and  to 
show  how  his  educational  teachings  have  influenced 
later  systems,  for  good  or  for  evil,  down  to  the  present 
day. 


CHAPTER  I 

IDEAS  AND  ASPIRATIONS  CURRENT  IN  ROUSSEAU'S 

TIME 

Authority,  Nature,  and  Culture 

Questo  modo  di  retro  par  che  uccida 
Pur  lo  vinco  d'  amor  che  fa  natura. 
♦  *  *  *  « 

Per  1'  altro  modo  quell'  amor  s'  obblia 
Che  fa  natura  e  quel  ch'  h  poi  agglunto, 
Di  che  la  fede  spezial  si  cria. 

Dante,  Inferno,  XI.,  55,  56,  61-63. 

If  true  human  greatness  consists  in  deep  insight, 
strong  and  well-distributed  affection,  and  free,  benefi- 
cent will,  Rousseau  was  not  in  any  sense  a  great 
man.  His  insight,  like  his  knowledge,  was  limited  / 
and  superficial;  his  affections  were  capricious  and 
undisciplined;  and  his  will  was  ungenerous  and  self- 
ish. V"  His  importance  in  literature  and  history  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  he  summed  up  in  his  character,  ex- 
pressed in  his  writings,  and  exemplified  in  his  experi- 
ence, a  group  of  tendencies  and  aspirations  which  had 
for  some  time  been  half  blindly  stirring  in  the  bosom 
of  society,  and  which  in  him  attained  to  complete 
consciousness  and  manifestation  for  the  first  time.* 

1  Rousseau  has  been  undeservedly  blamed  for  feeling  and  express- 
ing this.  In  the  opening  of  his  Confessioris  he  says:  "I  feel  my 
heart,  and  I  know  men.    I  am  not  made  like  any  that  I  have  seen, 

•d 


4  ROUSSEAU 

/ 
These  tendencies  and  aspirations,  which  may  be  com- 
prehended under  the  one  term  individualism,  or,  more 
strictly,  subjective  individualism,  have  a  history,  and 
this  we  must  now  sketch,  if  we  are  to  understand  the 
significance  of  our  author. 

Modern  individualism  is  a  reaction  against  the  ex- 
treme socialism  of  the  Middle  Age.     The  ruling  prin- 
ciple of  that  age  was  authority,  conceived  as  derived 
from  a  Supreme  Being  of  infinite  power,  and  vested 
^  in  the  heads  of  two  institutions,  Church  and  Empire, 
or,   more  frequently,   in  that  of  the  Church  alone. ^ 
According  to  the  views  then  prevalent,  the  individual 
was  neither  his  own  origin  nor  his  own  end.     He  was 
created  by  God,  for  God^s  glory, ^  and  was  merely  a 
means  to  that.     He  had  therefore,  of  course,  no  free- 
j  dom,  whether  of  thought,  affection,  or  will.     Free  in- 
I  quiry  into  the  laws  and  nature  of  reality  gave  way  to 
a  timid  discussion  of  the  meaning  of  authority.     The 
'  natural  affections  were  but  grudgingly  admitted  to  a 
place  in  life,  and,  even  as  late  as  the  Council  of  Trent, 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  an  anathema  was  pronounced 
upon  any  one  who  should  say  that  the  state  of  vir- 

and  I  venture  to  thiuk  that  I  am  not  made  like  any  that  exist.  If  I 
am  not  better,  I  am,  at  least,  different.  Whether  nature  did  well 
or  ill  in  breaking  the  mould  in  which  she  cast  me,  no  one  can  tell 
till  after  he  has  read  me."  The  truth  is,  Rousseau  was  the  first  of 
a  new  type,  of  which  there  are  plenty  of  specimens  in  our  day,  the 
type  of  the  subjective,  sensuous,  sentimental,  dalliant,  querulous 
individualist.  Nature  by  no  means  broke  the  mould.  See  Morley, 
Roussemc,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  304  sqq. 

1  See  Dante,  De   Monarchia,  and    compare   Bryce,  The   Holy 
Roman  Empire,  passim. 

2  "  In  His  will  is  our  peace,"  says  a  blessed  spirit  in  the  Paradi«€ 
of  Dante  (III.,  85). 


IDEAS  AND   ASPIRATIONS  6 

ginity  and  celibacy  was  not  better  than  the  state  of 
matrimony.^  Above  all,  free  self-determination  of 
the  will,  possible  only  through  free  inquiry  and  free 
affection,  was  placed  under  the  ban.  The  task  of  the 
centuries  since  the  close  of  the  Middle  Age  has  been 
gradually  to  shake  off  this  yoke  and  to  restore  men  to 
freedom,  that  is,  to  convince  them  that  they  are  ends  ; 
in  and  through  themselves.  il 

The  first  notable  manifestations  ^  of  this  tendency  f 
were  the  Germanic  Reformation  and  the  Italian  Re-  / 
naissance,  both  belonging  to  the  sixteenth  century.  / 
The  former  claimed  freedom  for  the  individual  intelli- 
gence ;  the  latter,  freedom  for  the  individual  feelings 
and  emotions.  Neither  of  them  thought  of  aspiring 
to  freedom  of  the  moral  will,  which  is  the  only  true 
freedom.  This  is  a  fact  of  the  utmost  importance  in 
enabling  us  to  comprehend  the  thought  and  practice 
of  the  sixteenth,  seventeenth,  and  eighteenth  centu- 
ries. We  look  vainly  in  these  for  the  conception  of 
moral  freedom.^  What  the  absence  of  this  meant,  we 
can  perhaps  most  clearly  see,  when  we  realize  that 
the  complete,  logical  outcome  of  the  Reformation  was 
Voltaire;  that  of  the  Renaissance,  Rousseau.  It  takes 
the  clear,  mathematical  mind  of  the  French  to  carry 
principles  to  their  logical  conclusions  in  thought  and 

1  See  Denzinger,  Enchiridion  Symbolorum  et  Definitionum,  p. 
231,  §  856. 

2  We  can  trace  the  tendency  itself  back  to  Ab^lard  (1079-1142), 
and  even  further. 

3  In  Goethe's  great  drama,  Faust,  who  stands  for  the  complete 
movement  toward  individualism,  and  who  discovers  its  nature  and 
limitations,  takes  his  stand  upon  the  will.  "  Allein  ich  will!"  he 
says,  in  defiance  of  all  Mephistopheles'  suggestions.  Part  I.,  1. 1432 
(Schroer). 


6  ROUSSEAU 

V 

practice.^    What  Eousseau  demands  is  absolutely  free 

play  for  the  feelings  and  emotions.  But  it  took  a  long 
time  for  any  one  to  become  clearly  aware  that  this 
was  the  true  meaning  of  the  Renaissance. 
.!  In  trying  to  escape  from  authority,  the  men  of  the 
4 Reformation  appealed  to  Reason;  those  of  the  Renais- 
sance, to  Nature.  And  the  causes  of  this  are  obvious. 
Reason  can  find  justification  only  in  Reason;  feeling, 
emotion,  as  claiming  to  be  guiding  principles,  must 
look  for  theirs  in  Nature.  Accordingly,  while  among 
the  "  Reformers "  Reason  played  the  chief  part,  and 
in  the  end  gave  rise  to  speculative  philosophy,  among 
the  "Humanists"  Nature  received  a  homage  which 
finally  developed  into  physical  science.  The  notion 
of  "Nature"  was  an  inheritance  from  the  Greeks, 
chiefly,  it  should  seem,  through  Plato.  Indeed,  the 
distinction  between  Nature  (<f>v(ns)  and  convention 
(Oiori^),  or  law  (vofxos),  is  fundamental  in  Greek  think- 
ing, which  may  be  said  to  have  originated  in  an  at- 
tempt to  find  in  Nature,  regarded  as  unerring  because 
necessitated,  a  sure  refuge  from  the  manifold  forms 
of  capricious-seeming  conventions.^  Already  in  the 
minds  of  the  Greeks  this  distinction  involves  that 
dualism  between  the  material  and  the  spiritual  which 
pervades  almost  their  entire  philosophy,  and  con- 
stitutes its  chief  defect.  Accepting,  without  analy- 
sis, the  ordinary,  common-sense  view  of  the  world, 
which  regards  material  things  as  entirely  indepen- 

1  See  Mrs.  Browning,  Aurora  Leigh,  Bk.  VI. 

2  See,  especially,  Plato's  Cratylus  and  the  opening  lines  of  ^s- 
chylus'  Agamemnon.  Cf.  Lersch,  Sprachphilosophie  der  Alterit 
Vol.  I.,  pp.  1  sqq. 


IDEAS  AND   ASPIRATIONS  7 

dent  of  thought,  and  governed  by  laws  more  rigid'' 
and  reliable  than  it  can  claim,  they  were  fain,  lik& 
many  equally  unschooled  scientists  of  the  present  day^' 
to  adopt  these  laws  as  the  norm  for  human  action^ 
in  a  word,  to  naturalize  spirit.  Continuing  to  thinks, 
however,  they  were  finally  surprised  to  discover  that 
Nature  itself  was  purely  conventional  (6cW,  vo/aw), 
that  is,  subject  to  the  laws  of  spirit,  and  therefore 
incapable  of  furnishing  a  court  of  appeal  from  these. 
This  was  the  work  of  the  Sophists,  who,  by  their  open 
scepticism,  made  it  very  clear  that,  if  there  was  any 
inexorable  law,  it  must  be  sought  elsewhere  than  in 
Nature.  Socrates  wisely  sought  it  in  the  unity  and  . 
completeness  of  thought ;  but  his  work  was  undone  by 
his  pupil  Plato,  who  sought  it  in  a  world  of  ideas  of 
his  own  invention,  a  world  having  no  necessary  con- 
nection with  either  matter  or  mind.  From  this  time 
on,  Nature,  and  gradually  mind  or  Eeason  also,  fell 
into  disrepute,  and  the  supreme  object  of  interest 
became  Plato's  fantastic  creation,  the  so-called  ideal  *"- 
world.  This  tendency,  along  with  many  other  things 
in  Greek  philosophy,^  passed  over  into  Christianity, 
and  reached  its  culmination  in  the  Middle  Age,  when 
Nature  and  Reason  were  both  equally  regarded  with 
suspicion,  or  even  contempt,^  as  the  origin  of  evil, 
and  the  place  of  Plato's  ideal  world  was  taken  by  an 
authoritative  Revelation.     '  r^'^'^  f 

As  we  have  seen,  the  Reformation  undertook  to 
rehabilitate  Reason,   and  the  Renaissance,  Nature. 

1  See  Hatch,  Hibbert  Lectures  (1888),  generally. 

2  See  the  horrified  speech  of  the  Archbishop,  in  Faust,  Pt.  II., 
Act  i.,  lines  285-304  (Schroer). 


8  ROUSSEAU 

They  did  so  without  attempting  to  overcome  their 
opposition,  or,  generally  speaking,  to  reject  Revela- 
tion, at  least  openly.  Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  the 
thinkers  of  the  seventeenth  century  found,  in  their 
inheritance  from  the  past,  three  unreconciled  concep- 
tions, or  groups  of  conceptions,  whose  opposing  claims 
they  were  in  no  position  to  settle  ^  —  Nature,  Eeason, 
Revelation.  As  might  have  been  expected,  some 
declared  for  one,  some  for  another.  Generally  speak- 
ing, churchmen  and  their  friends  clung  to  Revelation 
and  authority;  while  other  thinkers  tried  to  make 
peace  between  Reason  and  Nature.  In  general,  the 
English  mind  showed  a  preference  for  Nature,  and 
tried  to  explain  Reason  through  it,  while  the  French 
mind,  setting  out  with  Reason,  could  find  no  way  of 
arriving  at  Nature,  and  so  left  the  dualism  unsolved. 
Bacon,  Hobbes,  and  Locke  form  a  strong  contrast  to 
Pascal,  Descartes,  and  Malebranche.  Rousseau  gen- 
erally follows  the  former,  and  especially  Hobbes. 
1^-  Hobbes  conceived  the  human  race  as  setting  out  on 
its  career  in  a  "state  of  Nature,"  which  to  him  meant 
a  state  of  universal  war,  resulting  in  a  life  "  solitary, 
poor,  brutish,  nasty,  and  short."  ^  At  the  same  time 
he  regarded  Nature  as  "the  art  whereby  God  hath 
made  and  governs  the  world,"  getting  over  the  para- 
dox herein  involved  by  maintaining  that  Nature  "  is 
by  the  art  of  man  .  .  .  imitated  that  it  can  make 
an  artificial  animal,"*  in  other  words,  that  'art*  is 

1  Most  of  the  thought  of  the  Western  world,  for  the  last  three 
hundred  years,  has  been  devoted  to  effecting  this  settlement,  thus 
far  with  very  indifferent  success. 

?  (jeviathan,  Cap.  XIII.  «  /6id.,  Introduction. 


IDEAS  AND  ASPIRATIONS  _fi.- 

0 

an  extension  of  Nature.^  "Kature,"  according  to 
Hobbes,  "  has  made  men  so  equal  in  faculties  of  the 
body  and  mind,  as  that  though  there  be  found  one^ 
man  sometimes  manifestly  stronger  in  body,  or  oi 
quicker  mind,  than  another,  yet  when  all  is  reckoned 
together,  the  difference  between  man  and  man  is  not 
so  considerable  as  that  cine  man  can  thereupon  claim 
to  himself  any  benefit  to  which  another  may  not  pre-  ) 
tend  as  well  as  he/*  And  not  only  are  men  equal,  ^  ^ 
but  they  have  equal  rights.  "The  right  of  Nature,"  > 
he  says,  "  wl\ich  writers  commonly  call  ^us  naturale, 
is  the  liberty  each  man  hath  to  use  his  own  power,  as 
well  as  himself,  for  the  preservation  of  his  own 
nature;  that  is  to  say,  of  his  own  life;  and  conse- 
quently of  doing  anything,  which  in  his  own  judg- 
ment and  reason  he  shall  conceive  to  be  the  aptest 
means  thereto.  By  'liberty  '  is  understood,  according  i 
to  the  proper  signification  of  the  word,  the  absence  of 
external  impediments. "%*«^*^  "A  'law  of  Nature,* 
lex  naturalis,  is  a  precept  or  general  rule,  found  out 
by  reason,  by  which  a  man  is  forbidden  to  do  that 
which  is  destructive  of  his  life,  or  taketh  away  the 
means  of  preserving  the  same ;  and  to  omit  that  by 
which  he  thinketh  it  may  best  be  preserved."  In 
this  "  condition  of  war  of  every  one  against  every  one, 
.  .  .  every  one  is  governed  by  his  own  reason "  and 

1  Shakespeare,  Winter's  Tale,  Act  IV.,  sc.  iii.: 

"  Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so  over  that  art, 
Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  This  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature  —  change  it  ratiier :  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature." 


10  KOUSSEAU 

"every  man  has  a  right  to  everything,  even  to  an- 
other's body.  And,  therefore,  as  long  as  the  natural 
right  of  every  man  to  everything  endureth,  there  can 
be  no  security  to  any  man."  .  .  .  "And  conse- 
quently it  is  a  precept,  or  general  rule  of  reason, 
that  every  man  ought  to  endeavor  peace  as  far  as  he 
has  hope  of  obtaining  it;  and  when  he  cannot  obtain 
it  that  he  may  seek,  and  use,  all  helps  and  advantages 
of  war.  The  first  branch  of  which  rule  containeth 
the  first,  the  fundamental  law  of  Nature,  which  is,  to 
seek  peace  and  follow  it.  The  second,  the  sum  of  the 
right  of  Nature;  which  is,  by  all  means  we  can,  to 
defend  ourselves.  From  this  fundamental  law  of 
Nature,  by  which  men  are  commanded  to  endeavor 
(  peace,  is  derived  this  second  law :  that  a  man  be  will- 
ing, when  others  are  so  too,  as  far-forth  as,  for  peace, 
and  defence  of  himself,  he  shall  think  it  necessary, 
to  lay  down  this  right  to  all  things ;  and  be  contented 
with  so  much  liberty  against  other  men  as  he  would 
allow  other  men  against  himself."  .  .  .  "The  mu- 
tual transferring  of  right,  is  that  which  men  call 
*  contract.'  "^ 

"  From  the  law  of  Nature,  by  which  we  are  obliged 
to  transfer  to  another  such  rights  as,  being  retained, 
A  hinder  the  peace  of  mankind,  there  followeth  a  third, 
I  which  is  this,  that  men  perform  their  covenants 
made."  .  .  .  "In  this  law  of  Nature  consisteth  the 
fountain  and  original  of  'justice.'"  .  .  .  "When  a 
covenant  is  made,  then  to  break  it  is  'unjust';  and 
the  definition  of  'injustice '  is  no  other  than  the  non- 
performance  of  covenant.     And  whatsoever   is   not 

1  Leviathan,  Cap.  XFV. 


IDEAS  AND   ASPIRATIONS  11 

unjust  is  'just.'"^  .  .  .  "The  agreement  ...  of 
men  is  by  covenant  only,  which  is  artificial;  and 
therefore  it  is  no  wonder  if  there  be  somewhat  else 
required,  besides  covenant,  to  make  their  agreement 
constant  and  lasting;  which  is  a  common  power,  to 
keep  them  in  awe,  and  to  direct  their  actions  to  a 
common  benefit."  ^  .  .  .  "The  only  way  to  erect  such 
a  common  power  ...  is  to  confer  all  their  power  and 
strength  upon  one  man,  or  upon  one  assembly  of  men, 
that  may  reduce  all  their  wills,  by  plurality  of  voices, 
unto  one  will;  which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  to  appoint 
one  man,  or  assembly  of  men,  to  bear  their  person ; ' 
and  every  one  to  own,  and  to  acknowledge,  himself 
to  be  author  of  whatsoever  he  that  so  beareth  their 
person  shall  act,  or  cause  to  be  acted,  in  those  things 
which  concern  the  common  peace  and  safety;  and 
therein  to  submit  their  wills,  every  one  to  his  will, 
and  their  judgments  to  his  judgment.  This  is  more 
than  consent  or  concord;  it  is  a  real  unity  of  them 
all,  in  one  and  the  same  person  made  by  covenant  of 
every  man  with  every  man."  ^  .  .  .  "  He  that  carrieth 
this  person  is  called  'sovereign,'  and  said  to  have 
'sovereign  power';  and  every  one  besides  his  'sub- 
ject. '  "  .  .  .  "  The  attaining  of  this  sovereign  power 
is  by  two  ways.  One  is  by  natural  force."  .  .  . 
"The  other  is,  when  men  agree  amongst  themselves 
to  submit  to  some  man,  or  assembly  of  men,  volun- 
tarily, on  confidence  to  be  protected  by  him  against 

1  Leviathan,  Cap.  XV. 

2  Cf.  Dante,  De  Monarchia,  Bk.  III.,  Cap.  XVI. 

3  Used  here  in  the  sense  of  the  Latin  persona,  for  which  see  /n* 
stitutes  of  Justinian. 

*  Cf.  the  story  of  Menenius  Agrippa,  Livy,  Bk.  II.,  Cap.  32. 


12  ROUSSEAU 

all  others.  The  latter  may  be  called  a  political  com- 
monwealth, or  commonwealth  by  *  institution  ' ;  and 
the  former  a  commonwealth  by 'acquisition.' "  ^  .  .  . 
"A  *  commonwealth '  is  said  to  be  instituted/  when 
a  multitude  of  men  do  agree,  and  covenant,  every  one 
with  every  one,  that  to  whatsoever  man,  or  assembly 
of  men,  shall  be  given  by  the  major  part,  the  'right ' 
to  'present '  the  person  of  all  of  them,  that  is  to  say, 
to  be  their  'representative,'  every  one,  as  well  he  that 
voted  for  it,  as  he  that  voted  against  it,  shall  'author- 
ize '  all  the  actions  and  judgments  of  that  man,  or 
assembly  of  men,  in  the  same  manner  as  if  they  were 
his  own,  to  the  end,  to  live  peaceably  among  them- 
selves, and  be  protected  against  other  men.  From 
this  institution  of  a  commonwealth  are  derived  all  the 
'rights'  and  'faculties'  of  him,  or  them,  to  whom 
sovereign  power  is  conferred  by  the  consent  of  the 
people  assembled."^ 

Hobbes  now  goes  on  to  say  that  the  compact,  thus 
once  made,  can  never  be  either  replaced  or  annulled ; 
that  it  is  binding  on  all;  that  the  sovereign,  once 
elected,  can  do  no  injustice,  and  hence  cannot  be  put 
to  death,  or  otherwise  punished,  by  his  subjects ;  that 
he  has  the  right  to  prescribe  or  proscribe  opinion,  to 
determine  the  laws  of  property,  to  decide  all  contro- 
versies, to  make  war  and  peace,  to  choose  all  officials, 
to  reward  "with  riches  or  honor,"  and  to  punish, 
"with  corporal  or  pecuniary  punishment,  or  with  ig- 
nominy, every  subject,"  and  to  confer  titles  of  honor. ^ 
Though,  theoretically  speaking,  the  sovereign  may  be 

1  Ltviathan,  Cap.  XVII.  3  Leviathan,  Cap.  XVII, 

2  Leviathan,  Cap.  XVIII. 


IDEAS  AND  ASPIRATIONS  13 

either  a  monarch,  an  aristocracy,  or  a  democracy,  yet 
Hobbes,  for  various  reasons  assigned,  advocates  the 
first.  But,  in  any  case,  as  soon  as  the  sovereign  is 
in  power,  "the  liberty  of  a  subject  lieth  .  .  .  only 
in  those  things  which,  in  regulating  their  actions,  the 
sovereign  hath  pretermitted."  This  is  the  less  to  be 
regretted,  that  "liberty  or  freedom  signifieth,  prop- 
erly, the  absence  of  opposition ;  by  opposition  I  mean 
external  impediments,  and  may  be  applied  no  less  to 
irrational  and  inanimate  creatures  than  to  rational."  ^ 
Indeed,  "  liberty  and  necessity  are  consistent,  as  the 
water  that  hath  not  only  liberty  but  a  necessity  of 
descending  by  the  channel ;  so  likewise  in  the  actions 
that  men  voluntarily  do ;  which,  because  they  proceed 
from  their  will,  proceed  from  liberty;  and  yet,  because 
every  act  of  man's  will,  and  every  desire  and  incli- 
nation, proceedeth  from  some  cause,  and  that  from 
another  cause,  in  a  continual  chain,  whose  first  link 
is  in  the  hand  of  God,  the  first  of  causes  proceed  from 
necessity."  .  .  .  "And  did  not  His  will  assure  the 
necessity  of  man's  will  .  .  .  the  liberty  of  men  would 
be  a  contradiction  and  impediment  to  the  omnipotence 
and  liberty  of  God."  ^ 

Hobbes'  views  with  regard  to  law  are  characteristic. 
"The  law  of  Nature,"  he  says,  "and  the  civil  law 
contain  each  other.  For  the  laws  of  Nature,  which 
consist  in  equity,  justice,  gratitude,  and  other  moral 
virtues  on  these  depending  in  the  condition  of  mere 
nature  .  .  .  are  not  properly  laws,  but  qualities  that 
dispose  men  to  peace  and  obedience.     When  a  com- 

1  This  confusion  of  ideas  was  inherited  by  Rousseau. 
*  Levittthaji,  Cap.  XXI. 


14  ROUSSEAU 

monwealth  is  once  settled,  they  are  actually  laws,  and 
not  before/'  .  .  .  "The  law  of  Nature  therefore  is 
a  part  of  the  civil  law."  .  .  .  "Reciprocally,  also, 
the  civil  law  is  a  part  of  the  dictates  of  Nature.  For 
justice,  that  is  to  say,  performance  of  covenant,  and 
giving  to  every  one  his  own,  is  a  dictate  of  the  law  of 
Nature."  .  .  .  "  Civil  and  natural  law  are  not  differ- 
ent kinds,  but  different  parts  of  law,  whereof  one  part, 
being  written,  is  called  civil,  the  other,  unwritten, 
natural."^ 

We  have  made  these  long  quotations  from  Hobbes, 
because  he  may  be  regarded  as  the  father  of  that 
system  of  ideas  which  found  their  complete  expres- 
sion in  Rousseau.  Looking  back  on  them,  let  us  con- 
sider (1)  what  he  borrowed  from  previous  thought, 
(2)  what  he  altered  or  added,  and  (3)  what  he  arrived 
at.  (1)  He  borrowed  from  Greek  thought  the  notions 
of  Nature  (<^vcns)  and  convention  (^eVts),  or  law  (vo/xo?), 
of  necessity  and  freedom,  and  of  hypostatic  unity  j 
from  Latin  thought,  the  notions  of  person  and  natural 
law ;  2  from  mediaeval  theology  the  notions  of  God's 
omnipotence  and  man's  consequent  dependence  and 
unfreedom;  and  from  "the  judicious  Hooker,"  ap- 
parently, the  notion  of  a  "social  contract."*  (2)  He 
identified  convention  with  nature,  by  making  the 
former  a  mere  conscious,  that  is,  rational,  expression 
of  the  latter ;  *  and  freedom  with  necessity,  by  calling 


1  Leviathan,  Cap.  XXVI.    Note  the  naturalization  of  spirit! 

2  See  Justinian,  Institutes. 

3  See  Ecclesiastical  Polity,  Bk.  I. 

■*  Here  we  have  the  germ  of  Hegel's  objective  and  subjective 
reason,  and,  indeed,  of  modern  idealism  generally. 


IDEAS  AND   ASPIRATIONS  15 

that  which  proceeds  from  a  necessitated  will,  volun- 
tary and,  therefore,  free.  He  assumed  that  men  lived 
originally  in  a  state  of  Nature,  which  was  at  once  a 
state  of  freedom  and  a  state  of  universal  warfare,  and 
that  they  passed  out  of  that  into  a  civic  condition  by 
a  social  contract,  resulting  in  the  creation  of  a  new 
hypostatic  person,  of  which  all  individuals  thence- 
forth became  mere  organs.  This  new  person,  he 
maintained,  had  no  real  liberty  of  its  own,  but,  being 
a  product  of  Nature,  was  a  mere  implement  in  the 
hands  of  God,  for  His  own  ends.  Thus  (3),  in  his 
attempt  to  correlate  Revelation,  Nature,  and  Reason, 
or  Convention,  Hobbes  arrived  at  the  notion  of  a  state 
or  commonwealth  as  a  mere  automaton,  whose  motive 
force  was  externally  communicated  through  its  head 
—  a  notion  which  underlies  many  forms  of  theistic 
religion,  for  example,  Islam  and  Calvinism,  and  finds 
its  most  complete  realization  in  the  Turkish  and 
Russian  empires  of  to-day.  It  is  due  to  a  mere  shuf- 
fling and  combining  of  old,  unanalyzed  concepts,  such 
as  those  above  enumerated,  in  a  mind  essentially 
servile. 

But,  though  Hobbes  was  the  avowed  champion  of 
moral  determinism  and  political  despotism,  he  unwit- 
tingly paved  the  way  for  freedom,  by  admitting  that 
all  sovereign  or  despotic  rights  were  derived  from  a 
primitive  convention.  His  readers  forgot  that  this 
convention  was,  at  bottom,  due  to  Nature  and  God, 
and  fixed  their  attention  upon  men  as  the  source  of 
civic  rights.  So  true  was  this  that  even  Charles  II., 
Hobbes'  pupil,  was  highly  offended  at  what  seemed  a 
denial  of  the  "divine  right  of  kings."     To  maintain 


16  ROUSSEAU 

this  right,  Sir  Kobert  Filmer  wrote  his  Patriarcha,^ 
which  tried  to  show  that  all  sovereign  rights  were 
derived  from  the  sovereignty  of  the  world  originally 
conceded  by  God  to  Adam,  and  had  descended  in  a 
direct  line  from  him ;  hence,  that  all  primitive  equality 
among  men  and  all  occasion  for  a  social  contract  were 
impossible.  Princes  are  born  princes;  the  rest  of 
mankind,  subjects  or  thralls.  Against  this  plea  for 
royal  absolutism  and  popular  enslavement,  Locke 
raised  his  voice,  and  published  in  1689,  just  after  the 
revolution  which  expelled  James  II.,  his  Two  Trea- 
tises on  Government.  In  the  former  of  these  he 
refuted,  with  needless  gravity,  the  flimsy  arguments 
of  Filmer,  and,  in  the  latter,  undertook  to  show  what 
were  the  true  origins  of  civil  government. 

Defining  political  power  as  "a  right  of  making 
laws,  with  penalties  of  death,  and  consequently  all 
less  penalties  for  the  regulating  and  preserving  of 
property,  and  of  employing  the  force  of  the  community 
in  the  execution  of  such  laws,  and  in  the  defence  of 
the  commonwealth  from  foreign  injury,  and  all  this 
only  for  the  public  good,"^  he  proceeded  to  consider 
how  such  power  could  rise.  In  dealing  with  this 
question,  he  made  the  two  fundamental  assumptions 
of  Hooker  and  Hobbes,  (1)  that  mankind  started  on 
its  career  in  a  state  of  Nature,  in  which  all  individuals 
enjoyed  complete  liberty  and  equality,  (2)  that  the 
transition  from  this  to  the  civic  state  was  through  a 
social  contract ;  but  lie  sided  wi^Uddker,  againsi 

1  Leviathan  was  published  in  1651 ;  Patriarcha  wa«  written  be- 
fore 1653,  but  not  published  till  1680. 

2  Bk.  II.,  Cap.  I.,  ad  Jin. 


IDEAS  AND  ASPIRATIONS  17 

Hobbes,  in  maintaining  that  the  state  of  Nature  was 
not  a  state  of  war,  but  one  of  peace,  governed  by  a 
naturaj^law.  "The  state  of  JS'ature,"  he  says7"has 
a  law  of  Nature  to  govern  it,  which  obliges  every  one, 
and  reason,  which  is  that  law,  teaches  all  mankind  who 
will  but  consult  it,  that  being  all  equal  and  inde- 
pendent no  one  ought  to  harm  another  in  his  life, 
health,  liberty,  or  possessions ;  for  men  being  all  the 
workmanship  of  one  omnipotent  and  infinitely  wise 
Maker,  all  the  servants  of  one  sovereign  Master,  sent 
into  the  world  by  His  order  and  about  His  business, 
they  are  His  property  whose  workmanship  they  are, 
made  to  last  during  His,  not  one  another ^s  pleasure." 
Here  we  have  to  observe  two  things :  (1)  that,  as  in 
Hobbes,  Keason  is  identified  with  the  law  of  Nature, 
(2)  that  man  is  still  conceived  as  being  a  mere  instru- 
ment in  the  hands  of  a  Higher  Power.  At  the  same 
time,  Locke  does  not,  on  that  account,  deprive  him  of 
either  moral  ^  or  political  liberty,  or  submit  him 
irrevocably  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  despot.  He 
says:  "To  this  strange  doctrine,  viz..  That  in  the 
state  of  Nature,  every  one  has  the  executive  power  of 
the  law  of  Nature,  I  doubt  not  but  it  will  be  objected 
that  it  is  unreasonable  for  men  to  be  judges  in  their 
own  cases  .  .  .  and  that  therefore  God  hath  certainly 
appointed  government  to  restrain  the  partiality  and 
violence  of  men.  I  easily  grant  that  civil  government 
is  the  proper  remedy  for  the  inconveniences  of  the 
state  of  Nature,  which  must  certainly  be  great  when 
men  may  be  judges  in  their  own  cases."  .  .  .  "But  I 
desire  those  who  make  this  objection  to  remember 

1  See  Two  Treatises,  Bk.  II.,  Cap.  VI.,  §  68. 
o 


18  ROUSSEAU 

that  absolute  monarchs  are  but  men ;  and,  if  govern- 
ment is  to  be  the  remedy  of  those  evils  which  neces- 
sarily follow  from  men  being  judges  in  their  own 
cases,  and  the  state  of  Nature  is  therefore  not  to  be 
endured,  I  desire  to  know  what  kind  of  government 
that  is,  and  how  much  better  it  is  than  the  state  of 
Nature,  where  one  man  commanding  a  multitude  has 
the  liberty  to  be  judge  in  his  own  case,  and  may  do  to 
all  his  subjects  whatever  he  pleases  without  the  least 
question  or  control  of  those  who  execute  his  pleasure? 
and  in  whatsoever  he  doth,  whether  led  by  reason, 
mistake,  or  passion,  must  be  submitted  to?  which 
men  in  the  state  of  Nature  are  not  bound  to  do  to  one 
another. "  ^ 

Locke  not  only  reject  Hobbes'  theory  of  despotic 
sovereignty,  but  he  stoutly  mamtams^at  men, 


submitting  to  common  laws,  do  notlose,  but  gain,  free- 
dom.  He  says:  "However  it  may"^e'lnistaken,  tfie 
end  of  law  is  not  to  abolish  or  restrain,  but  to  pre- 
serve and  enlarge  freedom."  .  .  .  "Where  there  is 
-^no  law  there  is  no  freedom."  .  .  .  "For  who  could 
be  free,  when  every  other  man's  humor  might  domi- 
neer over  him."  ^  He  holds  that  all  property  is  right- 
fully due  to  labor,  and  all  inequality  of  possession 
(wrongfully)  to  the  introduction  of  money.*  The 
origin  of  civil  society  is  thus  described :  "  Whenever 
any  number  of  men  so  unite  into  one  society  as  to 
quit  every  one  his  executive  power  of  the  law  of 
Nature,  and  to  resign  it  to  the  public,  there  and  there 
only  is  a  political  or  civil  society.     And  this  is  done 


1  Two  Treatises,  Bk.  II.,  Cap.  II.,  §  13.    Cf.  Cap.  VII.,  §  90. 

2  Two  Treatises,  Bk.  II.,  Cap.  VI.,  §  57.        «  Ibid.,  Cap.  V. 


IDEAS  AND   ASPIRATIONS  19 

wherever  any  number  of  men,  in  the  state  of  Nature, 
enter  into  society  to  make  one  people,  one  body  poli- 
tic, under  one  supreme  government  j  or  else  when  he 
joins  himself  to,  and  incorporates  with,  any  govern- 
ment already  made."  ^  And  Locke  agrees  with  Aris- 
totle in  holding  that  men  unite  in  this  way  because 
"man  is  by  nature  a  political  animal."  "God,"  he 
says,  "  having  made  man  such  a  creature  that,  in  His 
own  judgment,  it  was  not  good  for  him  to  be  alone, 
put  him  under  strong  obligations  of  necessity,  con- 
venience, and  inclination,  to  drive  him  into  society, 
as  well  as  fitted  him  with  understanding  and  language 
to  continue  and  enjoy  it."^  And  Locke  firmly  be- 
lieved, not  only  that  all  civil  societies  were  due  to 
original  contracts,  voluntarily  entered  into,  but  also 
that  they  might  be  dissolved  when  that  contract  was 
broken.  Distinguishing,  moreover,  between  society 
and  government,  which  latter  he  held  to  be  the  act  of 
a  society  already  formed,  he  maintained  that,  when  a 
government,  or  form  of  government,  failed  to  perform 
the  functions  for  which  it  was  instituted,  society 
might  overthrow  it,  and  put  another  in  its  place  —  an 
excuse  for  the  revolution  of  1688,  and  for  revolutions 
generally. 

Comparing  Locke  with  Hobbes,  we  find  a  consider- 
able advance,  on  the  part  of  the  former,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  liberty.  Men  are  no  longer  moral  automata; 
they  are  no  longer  drawn  into  a  social  contract  by 
mere  selfishness,  but  by  a  beneficent  law  of  their 
nature;  the  social  contract  no  longer  extends  to  the 
whole  of  human  life,  and  is  no  longer  irrevocable ;  by 

1  Tioo  Treatises,  Bk.  II.,  Cap.  VII.,  §  89.  ^Jbid.,  §  77. 


20  ROUSSEAU 

such  contract  men  gain,  and  do  not  lose,  freedom, 
otherwise   the   contract   is  not  binding;    divine  au- 
thority, though  still  freely  acknowledged,   does  not 
prevent  men  from  being  the  originators,  and  the  only 
lawful  originators,  of  their  own  governments ;  Reason 
is  the  qualification  for  free  citizenship.     Neverthe- 
less,   Hobbes'   fundamental   fallacies  —  the   state   of 
Nature  and  the  social  contract  —  still  remain.     The 
\  two  Englishmen,  Hobbes  and  Locke,  were  the  chief 
inspirers  of  Eousseau's  social  and  political  theories. 
Of  earlier  men  whose  views  tended  away  from  medise- 
valism,  such  as  Marsiglio  of  Padua  (fourteenth  cen- 
tury). Hooker  (1553-1600),  Machiavelli  (1469-1527), 
Bodin   (1530-1596),  Grotius   (1583-1645),  Althusen, 
he  knew    very  little,  though  he   mentions   some   of 
them.     Among  his  more  immediate  predecessors,  the 
men   that    most    influenced   him   were   Montesquieu 
(1689-1755)  and  Morelly.     The  former,  in  his  Esprit 
des  Lois,  first  published  at  Geneva,  in  1748,  had  dealt 
with  social  and  political  questions  in  an  historic  and 
scientific  way,  inquiring  into  facts,  instead  of  spin- 
ning theories  out  of  his  own  head  or  heart.     Against 
this  method,  Eousseau,  who  hated  research,  and  could 
not  endure  continuous  study,  but  followed  his  "  heart " 
in  everything,   protested  with  all  his  might,  so  that 
many  of  his  theories  may  be  said  to  come  from  a  reac- 
tion against  those  of  Montesquieu.     Morelly,  on  the 
other  hand,  whose  Code  de  la  Nature,  ou  le  veritable 
Esprit   des   Loix,    de   tout   terns  neglige   ou  m^connu, 
appeared  in  1754,  soon  after  Eousseau's  second  dis- 
course (see  Cap.  IV.),  and  several  years  before  the 
Social  Contract,  must  have  found  in  Rousseau  a  strong 


IDEAS  AND   ASriRATIONS  21 

sympathizer.  Though  he  combated  Rousseau's  notion 
that  human  corruption  is  due  to  the  arts  and  sciences, 
and  agreed  with  Hobbes,  Locke,  and  Montesquieu  in 
holding  that  man  is  improved  by  social  culture,  he 
was  at  one  with  Eousseau  in  maintaining  that  men  in 
a  state  of  Nature  are  good,  and  not  bad,  that  most  gov- 
ernments hitherto  have  rather  corrupted  them  than 
otherwise,  and  that  they  have  done  this  by  permitting 
private  property,  and  consequent  inequality  of  posses- 
sion, which  is  the  source  of  all  other  inequalities  and 
most  other  evils.  He,  accordingly,  recommended  a 
return  to  the  simplicity  and  equality  of  Nature,  by  the 
establishment  of  a  community  of  goods,  that  is,  of 
socialism. 

At  the  time  when  Rousseau  began  to  write,  the 
ideas  of  Hobbes,  Locke,  Montesquieu,  and  Morelly, 
and  the  questions  started  by  them,  were  in  the  air. 
-The  chief  of  these  notions  were :  (1)  a  state  of  Nature, 
as  man's  original  condition,  —  a  state  conceived  some- 
times as  one  of  goodness,  peace,  freedom,  equality, 
and  happiness,  sometimes  as  one  of  badness,  war, 
slavery,  inequality,  and  misery ;  (2)  a  law  of  Nature, 
independent  of  all  human  enactment,  and  yet  binding 
upon  all  men;  (3)  a  social  contract,  voluntarily  and 
consciously  made,  as  the  basis  of  justification  for  civil 
society  and  authority,  —  a  contract  by  which  men 
united  for  the  protection  of  rights,  and  the  enforce- 
ment of  laws  which  had  existed  already  in  the  state 
of  Nature ;  (4)  false  inequality  among  men,  as  due  to 
private  property,  or  the  usurpation  by  some  of  what, 
by  natural  right,  belonged  to  all;  (5)  a  peaceful, 
untroubled,  unenterprising,  unstruggling  existence  as 


22  ROUSSEAU 

the  normal  form  of  human  life.  The  questions  started 
were  chiefly  these :  (1)  Was  the  state  of  Nature  one  of 
freedom  and  peace,  or  of  war  and  slavery?  (2)  Are 
Nature's  laws  beneficent  or  the  opposite  ?  (3)  Do 
men  gain  or  lose  freedom  through  the  social  contract? 
(4)  Are  they  improved  or  degraded  by  social  union 
and  culture?  (5)  Since  all  men  are  free  and  equal  in 
the  state  of  Nature,  how  do  social  subordination  of  one 
man  to  another,  and  social  inequality  come  about,  and 
what  is  their  justification?  (6)  Are  men  bound  to 
submit  to  social  regulations  against  their  wills? 

In  all  these  notions  and  questions  there  are  two 
facts  specially  deserving  of  attention:  (1)  the  ever- 
increasing  importance  assigned  to  Nature,  and  the 
ever-growing  tendency  to  identify  the  divine  will  with 
its  laws,  and  to  regard  Reason  as  the  expression  of 
these;  (2)  the  growing  tendency  to  look  upon  man  as 
the  originator  of  laws  and  the  founder  of  institutions  j 
as,  therefore,  their  master  and  not  their  slave.  It 
thus  appears  that,  in  the  attempt  to  reconcile  the  three 
concepts  of  Revelation,  Nature,  and  Reason,  regarded 
as  guides  to  human  action,  the  first  place  came  gradu- 
ally to  be  assigned  to  the  second,  and  all  appeals  to 
be  made  to  it.  And  this  fact  was  fraught  with  the 
gravest  consequences,  two  of  which  may  be  here 
mentioned.  (1)  There  was  the  gradual  decline  of 
theology  and  metaphysical  speculation,  with  the 
growth  of  natural  science.  (2)  There  was  the  ten- 
dency to  regard  human  duty  as  a  mere  docile  follow- 
ing of  Nature,  and  no  longer  as  a  process  of  abnegation 
of  the  natural  self  in  favor  of  a  loftier  ideal. 

In  Nature,  which  thus  became  the  watchword  of  the 


IDEAS  AND   ASPIRATIONS  23 

time,  men  sought  a  quiet  refuge  from  the  warring 
subtleties  of  a  theology  and  a  philosophy  which  had 
lost  contact  with  life,  and  left  it  devoid  of  interest. 
And  though,  for  a  time,  they  misunderstood  Nature, 
and  committed  many  enormities  in  their  devotion  to 
her,  yet  it  proved  in  the  end  that  "  Nature  never  did 
betray  the  heart  that  loved  her."  Whatever  view  we 
may  take  of  Revelation  and  Keason,  it  is  certain  that 
it  is  through  the  study  of  Nature,  taken  in  its  widest 
sense,  that  the  truth  of  them  becomes  significant  and 
fruitful  for  us. 

It  was  while  these  ideas  were  fermenting  in  men's 
minds  that  Rousseau  came  upon  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  II 

KOUSSEAU'S  LIFE 

(1)  Formative  Period  (1712-1741) 

Who  would  command  must  in  command  find  bliss. 

******* 
.  .  .  Enjoyment  vulgarizes. 

G(ETHE,  Faust,  Pt.  II.,  Act  IV.,  lines  5640,  5647. 

Human  beings  may,  roughly  speaking,  be  divided 
into  two  classes,  —  the  dalliers  and  the  willers,  — 
into  those  who  live  for  passive  enjoyment,  and  those 
who  live  for  active  mastery.  The  former,  endowed 
with  keen  sensibility  and  strong  appetite  (Plato's 
iiridvix-qTiKov),  which  tend  to  direct  attention  upon  them- 
selves and  upon  immediate  objects,  and  usually  desti- 
tute of  ambition,  seek  to  enjoy  each  moment,  as  it 
passes,  pursuing  no  definite  path,  but  wandering  up 
and  down  the  field  of  time,  like  children,  plucking 
the  flowers  of  delight  that  successively  attract  them. 
As  they  are  going  nowhere  in  particular,  they,  of 
course,  arrive  nowhere.  The  latter,  distinguished 
by  courage  and  the  spirit  of  enterprise  ($vfi6<;),  which 
give  their  interests  an  outward  direction,  and  by  the 
stern  quality  of  ambition,  live  mainly  in  the  future, 
half  ignoring  the  blandishments  of  the  present,  and 
finding  their  satisfaction  in  planning  and  carrying 
out  great  enterprises,  which,  when  successful,  give 

24 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  25 

them  position  and  fame  —  often  a  permanent  place  in 
the  world's  history.^  Of  the  two  chief  literary  in- 
spirers  of  the  French  Revolution  and  of  the  individu- 
alistic tendencies  of  the  present  century,  the  one, 
Rousseau,  belonged  to  the  former  class,  the  other, 
Voltaire,  to  the  latter.  How,  then,  it  may  be  asked, 
did  Rousseau  come  to  be  an  important  factor  in  a 
great  historic  movement?  The  answer  is,  For  two 
reasons,  (1)  because,  like  other  men  of  his  type,  he 
was  thrown  into  circumstances  which  wounded  his 
sensibility,  and  thus  driven  to  imagine  others  in 
which  it  would  find  free  play,  and  (2)  because  the 
movement  in  question  was  toward  the  very  things 
which  he  represented,  —  sensibility,  subjectivism,  and 
dalliance.  Over  most  of  the  men  of  his  class,  how- 
ever, he  had  the  rare  advantage  of  being  able  to  ex- 
press his  imaginings  in  literary  form  and  in  a  style 
which,  for  simplicity,  clearness,  effectiveness,  and 
almost  every  other  excellence,  looks  almost  in  vain 
for  an  equal.  Keen  sensibility,  uttered  with  confi- 
dent and  touching  eloquence,  is  the  receipt  for  making 
fanatics,  and  Rousseau  made  them.  Meanwhile  his 
ambitious  rival,  Voltaire,  was  making  sceptics. 

In  treating  of  the  life  of  Rousseau,  it  will  be  suffi- 
cient for  the  present  purpose  to  consider  only  those 
events  and  experiences  which,  in  a  marked  degree, 
contributed  to  form  his  character,  and, .  through  it,  to 
make  his  writings  what  they  are.     Persons  desirous 

1  Literary  examples  of  the  former  class  are  Hamlet  and  Wilhelm 
Meister ;  of  the  latter,  Julius  Csesar  and  Faust.  In  Mark  Antony 
the  characteristics  of  the  two  contend  with  fatal  result.  Cf .  Ten- 
nyson's poem  Will. 


26  ROUSSEAU 

of  knowing  more  will  find  ample  details  in  his  Con- 
fessions, perhaps  the  most  recklessly  impartial  biog- 
raphy that  ever  was  written,  his  Beveries,  letters,  etc. 

Jean- Jacques  Eousseau,  the  second  son^  of  Isaac 
Rousseau  and  of  his  wife  Suzanne,  n4e  Bernard,  was 
born  at  Geneva  on  the  28th  of  June,  1712.  Both 
parents  belonged  to  the  citoyen  class,  the  highest  of 
the  five  classes  into  which  the  inhabitants  of  Geneva 
were  divided ;  both  were  Protestants.  The  father,  a 
watchmaker  by  trade,  was  descended  from  an  old 
Parisian  family,  — his  great-great-grandfather  having 
emigrated  from  Paris  and  settled  in  Geneva  in  the  early 
days  of  the  Reformation  (1529)  —  and  retained  all  the 
characteristics  of  his  French  origin, —  sensibility,  live- 
liness, gallantry,  romanticism,  and  love  of  pleasure. 
The  mother,  daughter  of  a  clergyman,  was  a  person 
of  great  beauty  and  refinement,  but  endowed  with  an 
almost  morbid  sensibility,  which  she  had  heightened 
by  extensive  reading  of  sentimental,  highly  colored 
romances,  such  as  were  current  at  the  time.  She 
died  in  giving  birth  to  Jean-Jacques,  who  was  thus 
left  to  the  care  of  a  father  such  as  we  have  described. 

It  will  be  necessary  to  linger  for  a  moment  on  the  first 
years  of  our  heroes  life,  because  in  them  his  character 
was  formed  to  a  degree  that  is  very  unusual.  He 
was,  in  fact,  a  very  precocious  child,  quick,  vivacious, 
responsive,  a  very  thunder-cloud  stored  with  light- 
ning feelings,  ready  to  flash  forth  at  any  moment. 
At  his  birth  he  was  taken  charge  of  by  an  aunt,  a 
sister  of  his  mother's,  a  qi^iet,  kindly  person,  much 

1  The  elder  son,  seven  years  older  than  Jean-Jacques,  ran  away 
from  home  to  Germany  quite  young,  and  was  lost  sight  of. 


ROUSSEAU'S  LITE  27 

given  to  embroidery  and  song-singing.  She  treated 
him  with  exemplary  gentleness,  not  to  say  indulgence, 
allowing  him  to  follow  the  bent  of  his  own  disposi- 
tion, which,  though  free  from  any  trace  of  malignity, 
continually  drew  him  toward  incontinence  —  to  pilfer- 
ing and  devouring  eatables  —  and  to  romancing;  in 
plain  terms,  to  lying.  His  sympathetic  and  winning 
nature,  by  saving  him  from  correction,  also  prevented 
him  from  becoming  aware  of  any  moral  principle,  so 
that  he  passed  his  whole  childhood  without  ever 
impinging  upon  any  disagreeable  ought,  without  any 
other  guides  than  his  own  feelings.  And  this  condi- 
tion of  things  lasted  during  his  entire  life.  He  was 
always  completely  at  the  mercy  of  his  feelings,  ac- 
knowledging duty  only  for  purposes  of  rhetoric. 

As  he  was  never  allowed  to  go  out  and  mix  with 
other  children  in  the  street,  he  learnt  very  early  to 
read  and  write ;  so  that,  by  the  time  he  was  six  years 
old,  he  was  feeding  his  emotions  and  his  vivid  imagi- 
nation upon  the  romances  which  had  formed  his 
mother's  library.  For  over  a  year,  his  father  and  he 
used  frequently  to  sit  up  whole  nights  together, 
reading  aloud,  in  turn,  the  most  sensational  and 
sentimental  stories,  forgetting  sleep  in  the  nervous 
excitement  and  tearful  rapture  caused  by  pathetic 
love-scenes,  heroic  adventures,  and  hairbreadth 
escapes.  Before  he  was  seven  years  old  (1719),  his 
mother's  library  was  exhausted,  and  then  father  and 
son  were  obliged  to  turn  for  nocturnal  entertainment 
to  the  library  of  her  father,  which  consisted  of  such 
works  as  Plutarch's  Lives,  Le  Sueur's  History  of 
Church  and  Empire,  Bossuet's  Lectures  on  Universal 


28  ROUSSEAU 

History,  Nani's  History  of  Venice,  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses, and  certain  works  of  La  Bruy^re,  Fontenelle, 
and  Moliere.  Though  not  one  of  these  seems  to  have 
been  without  its  effect  upon  the  child,  that  which 
most  interested  him  was  the  first.  Of  this  he  says : 
"  Through  these  interesting  readings,  and  the  conver- 
sations to  which  they  gave  occasion  between  my  father 
and  me,  were  formed  that  free,  republican  spirit,  and 
that  proud,  indomitable  character,  impatient  of  yoke 
and  of  servitude,  which  have  tormented  me  all  my 
life,  in  the  situations  least  suited  for  their  manifes- 
tation. Continually  occupied  with  Rome  and  with 
republican  Athens,  living,  so  to  speak,  with  their 
great  men,  myself  born  a  citizen  of  a  republic,  and 
son  of  a  father  whose  strongest  passion  was  his  love 
of  country,  I  was  set  aflame  by  his  example ;  I  thought 
myself  a  Greek  or  a  Roman;  I  became  the  personage 
whose  life  I  was  reading ;  the  stories  of  constancy  and 
heroism  which  had  struck  me  put  lightning  into  my 
eyes  and  force  into  my  voice.  One  day  as  I  was  tell- 
ing at  table  the  story  of  Scaevola,  the  whole  company 
was  frightened  to  see  me  go  up  and  hold  my  hand 
over  a  chafing-dish  to  represent  his  action." 

Melodramatic  romances  and  Plutarchic  heroisms 
represented  the  world  to  the  precocious,  nervous, 
imaginative,  secluded  child,  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau, 
at  the  age  of  eight.  The  former  rendered  him 
dreamy  and  fantastic,  the  latter  intractable  and  de- 
fiant. He  himself  says:  "Thus  began  to  grow  and 
appear  in  me  this  heart  at  once  so  haughty  and  so 
tender,  and  this  character,  effeminate,  yet  indomi- 
table, which,  always  hovering  between  weakness  and 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  29 

courage,  between  dalliance  and  virtue,  have  all  my 
life  long  placed  me  in  contradiction  with  myself  and 
caused  me  to  miss  both  abstinence  and  enjoyment, 
pleasure  and  self-control."  A  sad  and  unpromising 
enough  result  of  the  first  stage  of  education ! 

In  1720,  when  Jean-Jacques  was  eight  years  old, 
his  father,  in  consequence  of  a  dispute  with  an  "  in- 
solent and  cowardly"  French  captain,  in  which  he 
felt  himself  unjustly  treated,  withdrew  from  Geneva, 
leaving  his  child  to  the  care  of  a  maternal  uncle,  who 
sent  him,  along  with  his  own  son,  a  child  of  the  same 
age,  to  be  educated  in  the  house  of  a  clergyman, 
named  Lambercier,  at  Bossey,  a  village  not  far  from 
the  city.  The  cousins  remained  here  for  two  years, 
and  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  enjoyed  them- 
selves royally.  The  country,  with  all  its  beauty, 
freshness,  and  freedom,  was  new  to  them,  and  they 
rioted  in  it.  They  formed  an  ardent  friendship  for 
each  other,  and  were  inseparable  night  and  day. 
They  did  not  learn  much  —  "  Latin  and  all  the  trifling 
rubbish  that  goes  with  it  under  the  name  of  educa- 
tion " ;  but  they  were,  in  the  main,  kindly  and  even 
indulgently  treated,  so  that,  while  they  were  fond  of 
their  master,  as  well  as  of  his  sister,  who  acted  the 
part  of  mother  to  them,  they  had  but  slight  occasion 
to  seek  any  other  guide  than  their  own  tastes  and 
appetites,  or  to  learn  the  meaning  of  duty.  It  is  easy 
to  understand  how,  with  an  experience  like  this, 
backed  by  that  of  his  earlier  childhood,  Rousseau 
came  to  believe  in,  and  passionately  to  maintain,  the 
natural  goodness  of  the  human  character.  To  an 
incident  which  occurred  toward  the  end  of  his  sojourn 


30  ROUSSEAU 

at  Bossey,  namely,  his  being  cruelly  punished  for  a 
slight  offence,  —  which,  moreover,  he  stoutly  main- 
tained to  the  end  of  his  days  that  he  did  not  commit, 
—  may  be  traced  the  origin  of  another  doctrine  of 
his,  namely,  that  what  confuses,  degrades,  and  blasts 
human  nature  is  discipline,  the  restraining  or  curbing 
of  the  natural  impulses.  The  effect  of  this  incident 
may  be  described  in  his  own  words :  "  Here  came  to 
an  end  the  serenity  of  my  childish  life.  From  that 
moment  I  ceased  to  enjoy  pure  happiness,  and  to-day 
I  feel  that  the  recollection  of  the  charms  of  my  child- 
hood stops  there.  We  remained  some  months  longer 
at  Bossey;  but  we  were  as  we  are  told  the  first  man 
was,  when,  though  still  in  the  earthly  paradise,  he 
was  no  longer  able  to  enjoy  it;  it  was  apparently  the 
same  situation,  but  in  reality  it  was  another  mode  of 
being.  Attachment,  respect,  intimacy,  confidence  no 
longer  bound  the  pupils  to  their  guides ;  we  no  longer 
regarded  them  as  gods  who  could  read  our  hearts ;  we 
were  less  ashamed  to  do  evil  and  more  afraid  of  being 
accused;  we  began  to  hide,  to  mutiny,  to  lie.  All  the 
vices  of  our  years  corrupted  our  innocence  and  dis- 
figured our  games.  The  very  country  lost  in  our  eyes 
that  charm  of  sweetness  and  simplicity  which  touches 
the  heart ;  it  looked  deserted  and  gloomy  to  us ;  it  had 
covered  itself  with  a  veil,  which  hid  its  beauties  from 
us.  We  no  longer  cultivated  our  little  gardens,  our 
herbs,  our  flowers.  We  no  longer  went  to  scratch  the 
earth  lightly,  and  shout  with  joy  at  discovering  the 
germ  of  the  seed  we  had  sown.  We  were  disgusted 
with  life;  our  guardians  were  disgusted  with  us.  My 
uncle  withdrew  us,  and  we  parted  with  Mr.  and  Miss 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  31 

Lambercier  feeling  that  we  had  had  enough  of  each 
other,  and  with  small  regret." 

It  would  surely  be  impossible  to  write  a  severer 
criticism  than  this  upon  the  sentimental,  undisci- 
plined, unmoral  education  which  Kousseau,  up  to  this 
time,  had  received,  and  which  he  afterwards  put  for- 
ward as  the  type  of  true  education.  So  frail  is  it 
that  a  single  experience  of  what  he  conceives  to  be 
injustice  dashes  the  whole  to  pieces,  turns  his  world 
into  a  desert,  and  sinks  him  in  every  sort  of  vice  of 
which  his  age  is  capable  —  including  even  that  of 
lasciviousness,  prematurely  developed  in  his  ebul- 
liently emotional  nature,  long  nourished  on  senti- 
mental romances.  It  is  sad  that  we  must  allude  to 
this  painful  subject  here;  but,  unless  we  do,  we 
cannot  give  a  correct  or  fair  account  either  of  the 
man  or  of  his  teachings.  He  himself  tells  us  that 
there  ran  in  his  veins  "  blood  burning  with  sensuality 
almost  from  his  birth,"  and,  though  he  professes  to 
have  remained  pure  in  action  till  late  in  youth,  this 
is  contradicted  by  facts  which  he  relates.  The  truth 
is,  his  imagination  was  corrupt  from  early  childhood, 
and  he  was  a  victim  not  only  of  sensibility,  but 
of  the  demon  sensuality,  all  the  days  of  his  life. 
Though  this  fact  may  move  our  pity,  its  effect  upon 
his  writings  must  not  be  ignored. 

After  leaving  Bossey,  at  the  age  of  ten,  Rousseau 
remained,  for  a  couple  of  years,  along  with  his  cousin, 
in  the  house  of  his  uncle  at  Geneva.  Here  the  two 
boys,  mixing  with  no  other  children,  attending  no 
school,  and  having  no  definite  tasks,  made  life  a  per- 
petual holiday  devoted  to  amusement.     They  made 


32  ROUSSEAU 

kites,  cages,  drums,  houses,  bows,  watches,  mario- 
nettes. For  the  last  they  composed  comedies,  which 
later  on  they  exchanged  for  sermons.  Kousseau  occa- 
sionally visited  his  father,  who  was  settled  at  Nyon 
in  the  Pays  de  Vaud.  Here  he  was  petted  and  fSted 
by  everybody,  fell  violently  in  love  with  several  inju- 
dicious women  of  twice  his  age,  sighed,  wept,  and 
went  into  hysterics  over  them,  and  was  rewarded 
sometimes  with  candy.  With  all  this,  he  remained  a 
mere  mass  of  impulses,  ever  tending  to  become  more 
and  more  unruly,  violent,  and  sensual,  and  without 
one  ray  of  moral  sense  to  guide  them.  So  far,  duty 
had  played  no  part  in  his  purely  animal  existence;  so 
far,  he  had  received  no  preparation  for  a  human  life. 
And  such  a  life,  a  life  involving  regular  habits,  con- 
stant application,  obedience,  and  self-denial,  he  was 
now  about  to  be  called  on  to  lead.  In  a  word,  he  had 
to  learn  a  profession. 

At  first,  when  hardly  twelve  years  old,  he  was 
placed  in  a  notary's  office;  but  found  his  occupation 
there  so  tiresome  and  unendurable  that,  though  he 
did  not  show  any  signs  of  active  rebellion,  he  was 
dismissed  for  ignorance  and  incapacity.  He  was 
then,  in  a  crestfallen  condition,  apprenticed  to  an 
engraver,  "a  coarse,  violent  man,"  by  whom  he  was 
treated  as  negligent  and  unruly  apprentices  usually 
were.  "In  a  short  time,"  says  Rousseau,  "he  suc- 
ceeded in  tarnishing  all  the  brightness  of  my  child- 
hood, in  brutalizing  my  loving,  vivacious  character, 
and  in  reducing  me,  in  spirit  as  well  as  in  fortune,  to 
the  true  condition  of  an  apprentice."  .  .  .  "The 
vilest  tastes  and  the  lowest  rascality  took  the  place 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  33 

of  my  pleasant  amusements,  blotting  them  entirely 
from  my  mind.  I  must,  despite  a  most  sterling 
(honnUe)  education,  have  had  a  great  tendency  to  de- 
generation ;  for  this  took  place  rapidly,  and  without 
the  least  difficulty."  .  .  .  "My  master's  tyranny 
finally  .  .  .  drove  me  to  vices  which  otherwise  I 
should  have  hated,  such  as  lying,  idleness,  and  theft." 
Comment  on  this  is  unnecessary,  especially  when  we 
find  Rousseau  taking  credit  to  himself  for  having  but 
once  stolen  money  —  which  he  did  at  the  age  of  forty ! 
Lying  he  frequently  pleads  guilty  to,  not  to  speak  of 
idleness.  Yet  he  was  not  altogether  idle  at  this  time; 
for,  in  order  to  escape  from  the  real  world  of  work 
and  duty,  to  which  he  neither  then  nor  at  any  time 
knew  how  to  adapt  himself,  he  threw  himself  into 
the  unreal  world  of  romance,  devouring,  with  the 
nervous  excitement  of  his  childish  days,  every  thril- 
ling or  sentimental  story  he  could  beg  or  borrow. 

His  apprenticeship  lasted  about  four  years,  and 
came  to  an  end  in  a  sudden  and  unexpected  way. 
Having  remained  outside  the  city  one  night  till  after 
the  gates  were  shut,  and  having  been  threatened  by 
his  master  with  severe  chastisement  for  such  offence, 
he  resolved,  rather  than  expose  himself  to  this,  to 
leave  both  his  master  and  his  home,  and  seek  his 
fortune,  as  a  knight-errant,  in  the  wide  world.  His 
cousin,  whose  friendship  had  visibly  cooled  as  Rous- 
seau degenerated,  made  him  a  few  presents,  encour- 
aged him  in  his  resolution,  and  "left  him  without 
many  tears."  They  never  afterwards  met  or  cor- 
responded. 

It  was  in  1728,  when  Rousseau  was  about  sixteen 


34  ROUSSEAU 

years  old,  that  he  resolved  to  become  a  "tramp,"  — 
for  such,  in  very  deed,  he  became.  That  he  should 
do  this  need  not  surprise  us.  It  was  the  logical  out- 
come of  his  character  and  training,  or,  rather,  want 
of  training.  -  It  is  training  that  fits  us  to  be  members 
of  social  institutions,  and  he  had  received  no  such 
thing,  but  had  been  left  to  follow  his  natural  instincts, 
which  were  abnormally  strong.  Though  he  had  been 
caged  for  a  time,  the  only  life  he  was  prepared  to  lead 
was  that  of  the  wild  bird,  and  to  this  he  now,  having 
made  his  escape,  naturally  enough  betook  himself. 
He  was  now  to  chirp  and  chatter,  to  fly  hither  and 
thither,  as  hunger  and  caprice  might  direct,  to  coo 
and  make  love  and  pilfer,  utterly  unaware  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  in  the  world  as  duty  or  self-denial. 
His  master  he  blamed  for  everything.  "  Had  I  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  a  better,"  he  wrote,  nearly  forty 
years  afterwards,  "I  should  have  passed,  in  the 
bosom  of  my  religion,  my  country,  my  family,  and 
my  friends,  a  quiet,  peaceable  life,  such  as  my  nature 
demanded,  amid  regular  work  suited  to  my  taste,  and 
a  society  suited  to  my  heart.  I  should  have  been  a 
good  Christian,  a  good  citizen,  a  good  husband  and 
father,  a  good  friend,  a  good  workman,  good  in  every- 
thing. I  should  have  loved  my  calling,  honored  it 
perhaps;  and,  after  having  lived  an  obscure  and 
simple,  but  quiet  and  even  life,  I  should  have  died 
in  peace  in  the  bosom  of  my  people.  Soon  forgot- 
ten, no  doubt,  I  should  have  been  regretted  at  least 
as  long  as  I  should  have  been  remembered."  The 
whole  of  Jean-Jacques  is  here.  He  would  have  been 
"good,"  as  anybody  can  be,   had  he  always  found 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  35 

everything  suited  to  his  "taste"  and  "heart,"  that 
is,  pleasant  and  attractive ;  but  of  heroic,  moral  good- 
ness, in  the  midst  of  circumstances  offending  both  taste 
and  heart,  he  had  not  even  a  conception.  Hence, 
when  he  found  himself  in  such  circumstances,  he  was 
bad,  ready  to  shirk  even  the  simplest  and  most  sacred 
duties,  and  to  descend  to  the  utmost  baseness. 

It  would  be  uncharitable  to  speak  in  this  way  of 
Rousseau,  even  though  we  but  repeat  his  own  state- 
ment, without  good  reason.  But  in  the  present  in- 
stance such  reason  exists.  His  educational  system 
has  its  chief  source  in  his  own  experiences,  tastes, 
and  character,  and  cannot  be  appreciated  in  its  moral 
bearings  without  an  impartial  presentation  of  these. 
By  publishing  his  Confessions,  moreover,  he  has  in- 
vited us  to  make  this  presentation,  which  we  can  thus 
do  without  laying  ourselves  open  to  any  charge  of 
circulating  malicious  gossip  or  slander.  In  judging 
him  as  a  man,  we  may  allow  him  to  put  in  the  plea 
of  King  Lear,  whom,  indeed,  he  resembles  in  many 

ways :  — 

"I  am  a  man 
More  sinn'd  against  than  sinning.*' 

After  running  away  from  his  master,  home,  and 
relatives,  Kousseau  lingered  for  a  short  time  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Geneva,  getting  food  and  shelter  as 
best  he  could,  and  rioting  in  the  sense  of  animal 
liberty  and  romantic  visions  of  a  future  career  of 
pure,  ebullient  enjoyment  suited  to  his  "taste  and 
heart."  Here  is  one  of  them:  "My  moderation 
limited  me  to  a  narrow  sphere,  but  one  deliciously 
choice,  in  which  I  was  sure  to  reign.     A  single  castle 


36  ROUSSEAU 

bounded  my  ambition ;  favorite  of  the  lord  and  lady, 
lover  of  the  daughter,  friend  of  the  brother,  and  pro- 
tector of  the  neighbors  —  that  was  enough ;  I  asked 
no  more."  In  the  course  of  his  rambles  he  passed 
over  into  Savoy,  and  at  Confignon,  finding  himself 
penniless  and  hungry,  he  called  upon  the  cure,  a  zeal- 
ous Koman  Catholic,  who,  by  means  of  a  good  dinner 
and  a  bottle  of  wine,  converted  him  to  Catholicism. 
Rousseau  always  maintained  that  he  received  a  most 
careful  religious  education ;  the  above  fact  shows  how 
much  it  meant  to  a  sensuous  nature  destitute  of  moral 
discipline.  To  make  sure  of  his  proselyte,  whose 
weaknesses  he  must  have  seen  through,  M.  de  Pont- 
verre  sent  him,  with  a  letter  of  introduction,  to  a 
recent  convert,  Madame  de  Warens,  a  person  of  many 
attractions  and  easy  virtue,  residing  at  Anneey.  This 
lady,  who  lived  on  a  pension  from  the  King  of  Sar- 
dinia, received  him  kindly,  fed  and  lodged  him,  and 
would  gladly  have  given  him  a  permanent  home, 
which,  as  he  fell  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight,  he 
would,  no  doubt,  have  accepted.  But  interested 
friends  of  hers  succeeded  in  driving  him  away,  and 
transporting  him  across  the  Alps  to  a  monastery  in 
Turin,  there  to  undergo  spiritual  instruction  and  be 
formally  received  into  the  bosom  of  the  Church.  If, 
during  his  week's  journey  to  Turin,  he  was  in  the 
seventh  heaven  of  romantic  ecstasy  and  hope,  he  found 
himself  in  quite  another  place  on  his  arrival  there. 
When  the  iron  gate  of  the  Hospice  of  the  Catechu- 
mens closed  behind  him,  he  found  himself  in  a  gloomy 
prison,  among  men  and  women  of  the  most  degraded 
type,  all  paying  with  pretended  conversion  for  a 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  37 

temporary  subsistence.  His  account  of  his  life 
there,  and  of  his  spiritual  guides,  beggars  belief. 
His  sojourn  lasted  but  nine  days,^  at  the  end  of 
which  he  solemnly  abjured  Protestantism,  "received 
the  accessories  of  baptism,''  and  was  admitted  into  the 
Church  with  gorgeous  and  edifying  pomp.  Then  he 
was  turned  out  into  the  street  amid  pious  wishes,  and 
with  twenty  francs  of  alms  in  his  pocket.  His  ro- 
mantic dreams  had  given  place  to  a  brutal  reality. 

Still  he  was  not  daunted.  Finding  food  and  lodg- 
ing for  a  few  cents  a  day,  he  idled  as  long  as  he  could, 
scouring  the  city  in  all  directions.  When  his  purse 
was  nearly  empty,  he  tried  to  find  work  as  an  en- 
graver, and,  after  many  failures,  managed  to  ingra- 
tiate himself  with  an  attractive  young  shopkeeper, 
whose  husband  was  at  the  time  absent.  He,  of  course, 
fell  at  once  violently  in  love  with  her,  and  had  hopes 
of  reciprocation,  when  the  husband  returned,  ordered 
him  out  of  the  house,  and  threatened  him  with  a  yard- 
stick whenever  he  again  came  near  it.  A  few  days 
later,  he  found  a  place,  as  half-lackey,  half -secretary, 
with  a  very  worthy  and  gifted  lady,  whose  only  defect 
seems  to  have  been  that  she  kept  him  in  his  place  and 
did  not  coquette  with  him.  When,  after  a  time,  she 
died  of  cancer,  he  took  the  opportunity  to  steal  a 
valuable  ribbon,  and  when  it  was  found  in  his  posses- 
sion, he  said  it  had  been  given  to  him  by  a  fellow- 
servant,-  a  young  girl,    it  seems,    of  irreproachable 

1  Rousseau  would  have  us  believe  that  he  was  altogether  three 
months  in  the  hospice ;  but  this,  like  many  other  things  in  the  Con- 
fessions,  is  demonstrably  incorrect. 

2  His  reason  for  this,  he  says,  was  that,  liking  the  girl  and  mean 
ing  to  give  her  the  ribbon,  he  had  her  in  his  mind  ! 


38  ROUSSEAU 

character,  and  stuck  to  his  lie,  even  in  the  presence  of 
the  girl,  and  notwithstanding  her  despairing  appeals 
to  him.  He  gained  belief  simply  because  no  one  was 
found  bad-hearted  enough  to  conceive  any  one  capable 
of  such  cruel  lying.  Indeed,  it  seems  hardly  possible 
to  descend  to  a  lower  depth  of  infamy  than  this,  or  to 
furnish  a  more  drastic  commentary  on  the  sort  of 
education  which  Kousseau  received  and  advocated. 
And  this  is  the  man  who  is  continually  taking  credit 
to  himself  for  his  chivalrous  devotion  to  women,  and 
speaking  of  them  in  the  most  effusive  terms!  The 
compunction  which,  in  his  Confessions,  he  so  elo 
^uently  parades,  only  shows  the  value  of  rhetorical 
morality. 

After  leaving  the  house  of  Madame  de  Vercellis, 
Kousseau  for  a  time  prowled  about  the  streets  of 
Turin,  often  performing  acts  of  so  disgusting  a  nature 
that  one  wonders  why  he  was  not  shut  up  in  a  mad- 
house. Once  he  was  mobbed  by  an  indignant  crowd 
and  escaped  only  by  a  barefaced  lie.  At  the  same 
time  he  was  visiting  a  certain  Abbe  Gaime,  who  talked 
to  him  very  seriously,  gave  him  wise  counsels,  and 
made  such  an  impression  upon  him  as  to  be  immortal- 
ized later  in  the  Vicaire  Savoyard. 

At  last  a  situation  was  found  for  him.  The  Comte 
de  la  Roque,  a  nephew  of  Madame  de  Vercellis,  intro- 
duced him  to  the  Comte  de  Gouvon,  head  of  a  noble 
family,  who  took  him  into  his  house  as  lackey,  and 
promised  to  do  better  things  for  him.  Here  he  was 
treated  with  great  kindness,  received  instruction  in 
Latin  from  the  count's  nephew,  and  for  a  while  con- 
ducted himself  satisfactorily,   hoping,    in  course  of 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  39 

time,  to  find  his  way  into  the  good  graces  of  the 
count's  charming  niece.  Failing  in  this,  and  sud- 
denly conceiving  an  ardent  attachment  for  an  old 
acquaintance  of  his  apprenticeship  days,  he  neglected 
his  duties  and  his  studies,  was  dismissed  from  his 
place,  refused  an  offer  to  be  taken  back,  and  the  two 
started  off,  with  light-hearted  glee,  to  resume  the  life 
of  tramps.  Eousseau  recalled  the  delights  of  his 
journey  to  Turin.  "What  must  it  be,"  he  thought, 
"  when  to  the  charm  of  independence  is  united  that 
of  travelling  in  company  with  a  comrade  of  my  own 
age,  taste,  and  good  humor,  without  formalities,  with- 
out duty,  without  constraint,  without  any  obligation 
to  travel  or  to  stop,  except  as  we  please.  One  would 
be  a  fool,  indeed,  to  sacrifice  such  a  chance  for  pro- 
jects of  ambition  slow  of  realization,  difficult,  uncer- 
tain, and  which,  even  if  one  day  realized,  were  not,  in 
all  their  glory,  worth  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  true 
youthful  pleasure  and  liberty." 

The  two  young  men  had  little  money;  but  they 
hoped  to  make  enough  for  board  and  lodging,  by  ex- 
hibiting a  gimcrack,  a  Hiero's-fountain,  in  country 
taverns  and  bar-rooms.  Disappointed  in  this,  they 
nevertheless  continued  their  tramp,  with  great  jollity, 
across  the  Alps,  arriving  finally  at  Chambery,  ragged 
and  almost  shoeless.  Here  Rousseau,  having  made 
up  his  mind  to  return  to  Madame  de  Warens,  with 
whom  he  had  corresponded  during  his  three  years' 
stay  in  Turin,  and  not  wishing  to  take  his  companion 
with  him,  began  to  treat  him  coolly,  and  the  latter, 
taking  the  hint,  embraced  him,  bade  him  good-bye, 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  gayly  off.     The  two 


40  ROUSSEAU 

never  afterwards  met.     Their  ardent  friendship  had 
lasted  six  weeks. 

Madame  de  Warens,  though  surprised  to  see  her 
protege,  whose  fortune  she  had  supposed  made,  come 
back  to  her  in  rags,  nevertheless  received  him  kindly, 
lodged  him  in  her  house,  and,  much  to  his  chagrin, 
tried  to  prepare  him  for  some  sort  of  regular  work. 
What  he  wanted  was  to  dawdle  about  with  her,  to  be 
caressed  and  petted,  to  follow  the  dear  caprice  of  the 
moment,  and  to  have  no  duties  or  definite  employment. 
As  Madame  de  Warens,  at  that  time,  hardly  cared  to 
be  so  completely  absorbed,  he  was  sent  to  a  seminary 
to  learn  a  little  Latin,  as  a  preparation  for  the  priest- 
hood. He  hated  his  first  teacher,  but  formed  an 
ardent  attachment  for  his  second,  who  was  weak  and 
sentimental,  but  sympathetic.^  In  spite  of  this, 
Rousseau  made  little  progress,  and  was  soon  dis- 
missed for  incapacity.  He  was  thus  thrown  back  on 
the  hands  of  Madame  de  Warens,  than  which  he  de- 
sired nothing  better.  Music  was  next  tried,  with  no 
better  success,  notwithstanding  that  he  had  great 
sensuous  delight  in  it.  He  had  not  patience  or  per- 
sistence enough  to  learn  even  the  rudiments  of  it,  and 
was  too  vain  to  accept  instruction  from  teachers.  At 
last,  Madame  de  Warens,  getting  tired,  adopted  a 
scheme  to  get  rid  of  him.  She  sent  him  off  to  Lyons 
to  accompany  home  a  well-known  musician  of  some- 
what irregular  habits,  and  during  his  absence  went  off 
to  Paris  without  leaving  any  address  behind.  Rous- 
seau deserted  the  musician  in  a  fainting-fit  in  the 

1  Along  with  the  Turinese  M.  Gaime,  this  man,  M.  GS,tier,  went 
to  form  the  portrait  of  the  Savoyard  Vicar.    See  p.  38. 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  41 

streets   of  Lyons,  ^  and  hastened  back  to  his   dear 
"mamma," ^  as  he  called  her. 

Finding  her  gone,  he  "  loafed  "  about  Annecy  for  a 
time,  in  somewhat  disreputable  company,  and  then 
started  off  to  convoy  home  to  Freiburg  Madame  de 
Warens'  maid,  whom,  with  his  characteristic  vanity 
in  such  matters,  he  supposed  to  be  deeply  in  love  with 
him.  On  the  way  he  called,  at  Nyon,  on  his  father, 
who  had  married  again,  and  had  a  satisfactorily  affect- 
ing scene  with  him.  Being,  contrary  to  his  expecta- 
tion, coolly  received  by  his  companion's  family,  and 
finding  himself  without  money,  he  went  to  Lausanne, 
persuaded  a  kindly  innkeeper  to  board  and  lodge  him 
on  credit,^  gave  himself  out  as  a  Parisian,  changed 
his  name,  and  set  up  as  a  music  teacher.  His  almost 
complete  ignorance  of  music  having  soon  been  dis- 
covered, he,  of  course,  made  a  ridiculous  failure,  and 
soon  left  for  Neuchatel.  On  the  way  he  had  a  fine 
opportunity  for  Arcadian  longings  and  self-pity.  "  I 
must  absolutely  have  an  orchard  on  the  banks  of  this 
lake  (Lake  of  Geneva),  and  of  no  other.  I  must  have 
a  firm  friend,  a  sweet  wife,  a  cow,  and  a  little  boat. 
Till  I  have  all  these,  I  shall  never  enjoy  complete 
happiness  on  earth."  ...  "I  sighed  and  cried  like 
a  baby.     How  often,  sitting  down  on  a  big  stone  to 

1  "  He  was  abandoned  by  the  only  friend  on  whom  he  had  a  right 
to  count.  I  seized  a  moment  when  nobody  was  thinking  of  me, 
turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  disappeared."  —  Confessions, 
Bk.  I.,  Cap.  III. 

^  Maman.  She  called  him  "Baby"  (Petit).  This  was  exactly 
the  relation  that  suited  him.    Cf.  Confessions,  Bk.  I.,  Cap.  11. 

8  "  I  told  him  my  little  lies,  as  I  had  arranged  them."  —  Confea- 
sions,  Bk.  IV. 


42  ROUSSEAU 

weep  at  leisure,  did  I  amuse  myself  by  watching  my 
tears  fall  into  the  water !  "  At  Neuchatel  he  repeated 
his  experiment  with  somewhat  better  success  than  at 
Lausanne ;  but,  having  one  day  fallen  in  with  a  Greek 
archimandrite,  who  was  collecting  subscriptions  to 
restore  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem,  he  was  glad 
to  follow  him  as  interpreter,  with  the  prospect  of 
much  aimless  wandering  and  good  dinners.  At 
Soleure,  however,  the  French  minister,  having  sat- 
isfied himself  that  the  archimandrite  was  a  fraud, 
sent  him  about  his  business,  and  took  charge  of  Rous- 
seau, who  still  pretended  to  be  a  Parisian.  Having 
heard  the  youth's  story  (Rousseau  was  now  about 
twenty),  he  gave  him  a  hundred  francs  and  sent  him 
off  to  Paris  —  home,  as  he  thought !  —  to  be  attendant 
to  a  young  officer  in  the  guards.  During  the  fort- 
night which  Rousseau  took  to  reach  Paris  on  foot,  he 
had  a  royal  time,  filling  himself  full  of  visions  of 
future  military  glory,  and  then  allowing  them  to 
vanish  in  the  more  passive  delights  of  idyllic  land- 
scape. Paris,  of  which  he  had  heard  so  much,  com- 
pletely disappointed  him,  and,  as  his  reception  there 
was  not  over  cordial,  he  soon  left  it  and  trudged 
southward,  hoping  somewhere  to  find  his  "mamma." 
During  this  journey,  he  was  once  more  in  the  seventh 
heaven,  although  here  and  there  he  encountered  ex- 
periences which  tended  to  sober  him,  and  which  made 
a  lasting  and  fruitful  impression  upon  him.  Having 
one  day  entered  a  peasant's  house  and  asked  for  din- 
ner, offering  to  pay,  he  received  nothing  but  skimmed 
milk  and  coarse  barley  bread,  the  man  declaring  that 
he  had  nothing  else.     In  course  of  time,  however, 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  43 

feeling  that  his  guest  would  not  betray  him,  the  man 
opened  a  trap-door  in  the  floor,  descended,  and  re- 
turned with  a  ham,  some  good  white  bread,  and  a 
bottle  of  wine,  on  which,  together  with  an  omelette, 
Rousseau  made  a  royal  dinner.  The  peasant  then 
explained  to  him  that,  in  order  to  avoid  ruin  at  the 
hands  of  the  tax-gatherer,  he  was  obliged  to  feign 
abject  poverty.  "All  that  he  said  to  me  on  this  sub- 
ject,'' writes  Rousseau,  "was  absolutely  new  to  me, 
and  made  an  impression  that  will  never  be  wiped  out. 
This  was  the  germ  of  that  inextinguishable  hatred 
which  grew  up  in  my  heart  against  the  vexations 
endured  by  the  unhappy  people  and  against  their 
oppressors." 

Having,  when  he  reached  Lyons,  sought  out  a 
friend  of  Madame  de  Warens',  he  learnt  that  she  was 
at  Chambery,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  him,  having 
found  for  him  a  pleasant  occupation  that  would  not 
separate  him  from  her.  He  hastened  to  find  her;  but, 
though  offered  a  horse,  he  walked  all  the  way.  This 
was  his  last  long  journey  on  foot,  the  end  of  his  vaga- 
bondage, which  had  lasted  four  years.  He  tells  us 
that,  though  often  poor  afterwards,  he  never  again 
had  to  go  without  a  meal. 

And  here  it  is  to  be  noted  that  this  vagabondage 
had  done  five  things  for  him:  (1)  It  had  satisfied  his 
lust  for  adventure,  and  made  him  willing  to  settle 
down  to  a  quiet  life;  (2)  it  had  dispelled  all  the 
glamor  attaching  to  courts,  castles,  palaces,  and 
high  life,  and  awakened  in  him  a  profound  and  en- 
during passion  for  rural  simplicity;  (3)  it  had  made 
him  acquainted,  as  hardly  anything  else  could  have 


44  ROUSSEAU 

done,  with  the  character,  lives,  needs,  and  sufferings 
of  the  common  people,  and  awakened  in  him  a  lively 
sympathy  for  them;  (4)  it  had  inspired  him  with  a 
passionate  love  of  natural  scenery,  such  as  no  one 
before  him  had  ever  felt;  so  that  he  may  fairly  be 
called  the  inventor  of  the  modern  love  of  nature,  the 
inspirer  of  the  nature-poets  of  all  lands;  (5)  it  had 
made  his  language  the  expression  of  genuine  passion 
and  first-hand  experience,  and  so  given  it  a  force 
which  no  style  formed  by  reading  or  study  ever  can 
have.     All  these  things  told  in  the  future. 

For  nine  years,  from  1732  to  1741,  Rousseau  spent 
the  greater  part  of  his  time  "at  home,"  that  is,  with 
his  "  mamma."  For  four  years  they  lived  in  Chambery 
in  a  gloomy  old  house,  under  the  most  extraordinary 
conditions,  and  the  most  immoral,  that  it  is  well 
possible  to  conceive;  for  Madame  de  Warens  had 
apparently  no  trace  of  moral  sense.  For  two  years 
Rousseau  was  employed  in  the  public  surveyor's 
office;  but,  as  he  found  every  sort  of  regular  employ- 
ment irksome  and  intolerable,  he  finally  threw  up  his 
place  and  fell  back  upon  his  "  mamma's  "  hands.  After 
a  season  of  blessed  idleness,  he  once  more  took  to 
teaching  music,  with  a  little  better  success  this  time. 
Most  of  his  pupils  were  young  ladies  of  good  family, 
and  he  made  a  point  of  falling  in  love  with  nearly 
every  one  of  them,  as  well  as  sometimes  with  their 
mothers  and  aunts.  Observing  this,  and  fearing  for 
his  morals,  Madame  de  Warens  ceased  to  treat  him  as 
a  baby  and  admitted  him  to  the  closest  intimacy.  On 
the  death  of  her  other  intimate,  some  time  after- 
wards, Rousseau  undertook  to  conduct  her  financial 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  45 

affairs,  which,  on  account  of  her  recklessness  and  her 
devotion  to  quacks  and  quackery,  were  rapidly  falling 
to  irretrievable  ruin.  He  only  made  them  worse,  tak- 
ing advantage  of  her  recklessness  like  the  rest.  To 
make  matters  worse,  partly  owing  to  certain  acci- 
dents, and  partly  to  his  own  morbid  imagination, 
nursed  on  laziness,  his  health  gave  way  and  he  became 
an  invalid  for  Madame  de  Warens  to  nurse.  Being 
fond  of  the  country,  he  persuaded  her  to  leave  Cham- 
bery  in  the  summer,  and  rent  a  cottage  outside  —  the 
famous  Charmettes.  Here  he  had  everything  his  own 
way,  and  for  a  time  enjoyed  perfect  bliss.  He  had 
his  trees  and  flowers,  his  pigeons  and  bees,  his  mis- 
tress and  his  books.  His  "languors"  and  "vapors" 
gave  him  an  excuse  for  avoiding  all  effort  or  trying  to 
earn  anything,  and  so,  for  nearly  a  couple  of  years, 
he  dallied  away  his  time,  helping  to  devour  the  little 
that  remained  of  his  poor  mistress'  pension,  not  to 
speak  of  her  patience.  It  is  true  that,  to  while  away 
the  time,  he  did  contrive  to  do  a  good  deal  of  very 
desultory  reading,  in  all  sorts  of  subjects, —  geometry, 
algebra,  Latin,  astronomy,  and  even  philosophy.  He 
dabbled  in  Locke,  Malebranche,  Leibniz,  Descartes, 
and  the  Port  Royal  Logic.  He  even  read  some  the- 
ology, and  was  on  the  way  to  a  wholesome  fear  of 
hell,  but  was  turned  back  by  the  comfortable  optimism 
of  his  mistress.'^  At  last,  both  he  and  she  desired  a 
change.     He,  having  dabbled  in  physiology,  came  to 

1  It  was  a  favorite  idea  of  his  that  *'  the  interesting  and  sensible 
conversations  of  a  worthy  woman  are  better  suited  to  form  the 
character  of  a  young  man  than  all  the  pedantic  philosophy  of 
hooks."  —  Confessions,  Bk.  I.,  Cap.  IV. 


46  ROUSSEAU 

think  that  his  languors  were  due  to  polypus  of  the 
heart,  and  she  encouraged  him  to  go  to  Montpellier 
to  be  cured,  starting  him  off  in  a  sedan  chair,  as  he 
was  too  feeble  to  ride !  On  the  way,  he  fell  into  the 
most  vulgar  sort  of  intrigue  with  a  coarse  woman, 
and  quite  forgot  his  mamma  —  and  his  polypus.  He, 
nevertheless,  went  to  Montpellier  and  frittered  away 
some  months  there.  When  his  money  was  exhausted, 
he  started  off  to  join  his  new  mistress ;  but,  on  coming 
to  a  point  where  the  road  to  her  parted  from  the  road 
to  his  mamma,  he  virtuously  chose  the  latter!  His 
account  of  this  deserves  to  be  quoted:  "As  I  ap- 
proached Saint  Esprit,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  give 
Saint  Andiol  the  go-by,  and  go  straight  on.  I  carried 
out  this  resolution  courageously,  with  some  sighs,  I 
admit,  but  also  with  the  inner  satisfaction,  lohich  I 
tasted  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  of  being  able  to  say: 
*I  deserve  my  own  good  opinion;  I  know  how  to  pre- 
fer my  duty  to  my  pleasure.'  This  was  the  first  real 
obligation  I  owed  to  study.  This  it  was  that  had 
taught  me  to  reflect  and  compare."  .  .  .  "One  ad- 
vantage of  good  actions  is  that  they  elevate  the  soul 
and  dispose  it  to  do  better  ones;  for  human  weakness 
is  such  that  one  must  count  among  good  actions  every 
abstinence  from  evil  that  one  is  tempted  to  commit. 
As  soon  as  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  I  became  an- 
other man."  We  must  not  despise  the  day  of  small 
things ! 

It  is  well  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward;  for  in  this 
case  there  was  no  other.  On  reaching  the  house  of 
his  "mamma,"  he  was  coolly  received,  and  found  that 
his  place  had  been  taken  —  taken  by  a  travelling  wig- 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  47 

I 

maker  of  brusque,  noisy  ways.  With  a  bleeding 
heart,  he  tells  us,  he  voluntarily  gave  up  his  rights. 
"  I  kept  this  resolution  with  a  firmness,  I  venture  to 
say,  worthy  of  the  feeling  which  inspired  it."  .  .  . 
"The  ardent  desire  to  see  her  happy,  at  any  price, 
absorbed  all  my  affections."  .  .  .  *'Thus  began  to 
spring  up,  with  my  misfortunes,  those  virtues  of 
which  the  seeds  lay  in  the  depths  of  my  soul,  which 
study  had  cultivated,  and  which  only  awaited  the 
influence  {ferment)  of  adversity  to  bring  them  to 
fruition."  In  spite  of  his  disappointment,  Rousseau 
remained  for  some  time  with  Madame  de  Warens; 
but  at  last,  finding  his  position  intolerable,  went  off 
to  Lyons,  to  be  tutor  to  the  sons  of  M.  de  Mably, 
brother  of  the  famous  Condillac.  In  this  capacity  he 
was  not  a  success,  "having  but  three  instruments, 
always  useless,  and  often  hurtful,  with  children, — 
sentiment,  reasoning,  anger."  He  seems,  however,  to 
have  retained  the  good  opinion  of  his  employer,  and 
he  made  several  important  acquaintances  which  were 
valuable  to  him  in  the  future.  His  morals,  too, 
improved  somewhat;  he  stole  nothing  but  wine.  He 
kept  his  place  for  a  year,  and  then,  as  usual,  returned 
to  his  "mamma,"  who,  though  she  treated  him  kindly, 
showed  no  desire  to  retain  him.  Nevertheless,  he 
remained  with  her  for  some  time;  but,  seeing  that 
the  renewal  of  the  old  relations  was  impossible,  and 
that  she  was  drifting  to  ruin,  he  at  last  left  her,  re- 
solved to  try  his  fortune  in  Paris,  and  hoping,  —  we 
may  well  believe  sincerely,  —  if  he  were  successful, 
to  return  and  relieve  her  at  a  later  time. 

Here,  in  1741,  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine,  Rousseau 


48  EOUSSEAU 

passes,  almost  suddenly,  from  the  dependent  and  pas- 
sive period  of  his  life  to  the  independent  and  produc- 
tive. Looking  back  upon  the  former,  he  says :  "  We 
have  seen  my  peaceful  youth  glide  by  in  a  quiet,  not 
ungentle  sort  of  existence,  without  great  troubles  or 
great  prosperities.  This  absence  of  extremes  was,  in 
large  degree,  due  to  my  ardent  but  feeble  tempera- 
ment, slow  to  undertake  and  quick  to  be  discouraged, 
shaking  off  inaction  by  fits  and  starts,  but  always  re- 
turning to  it  from  lassitude  or  taste ;  a  temperament 
which,  continually  drawing  me  far  away  from  great 
virtues  and  yet  further  from  great  vices,  to  the  indo- 
lent, quiet  life,  for  which  I  felt  myself  born,  never 
permitted  me  to  rise  to  anything  great,  in  the  way 
either  of  good  or  of  evil."  Though,  after  what  we 
have  seen,  it  is  impossible  to  agree  with  the  author  in 
this  indulgent  estimate  of  himself,  it  nevertheless 
contains  much  truth.  For  the  first  thirty  years  of 
his  life,  Kousseau  was  a  bundle  of  ardent  desires, 
undisciplined  by  either  serious  reflection  or  moral 
training.  He  responded  to  outward  impressions 
exactly  as  an  animal  does,  restrained,  if  at  all,  only 
by  fear.  So  utterly  unaware  was  he  that  there  is 
such  a  thing  in  the  world  as  morality  or  duty,  that  it 
seems  almost  unfair  to  apply  any  moral  standard  to 
his  actions.  He  is  the  natural  man,  pure  and  simple, 
with  egoistic  and  altruistic  instincts  of  a  merely  sen- 
suous, not  to  say  sensual,  kind.  He  has  gone  back  to 
the  state  of  nature ;  he  is  a  savage  living  among  civil- 
ized men,  and  adapting  himself  to  their  standards  as 
far  as  he  must.  He  is  lying,  faithless,  slanderous, 
thievish,  lascivious,  indecent,  cruel,  cowardly,  self- 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  49 

ish.  Only  toward  the  end  do  germs  of  nobler  things 
begin  to  appear.  Into  what  grotesque  and  portentous 
forms  these  developed,  in  the  spongy  soil  of  passion, 
and  under  the  bitter  rain  of  adversity,  we  shall  see 
in  the  next  chapter. 


^ 


CHAPTER   III 

ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE 

(2)  Productive  Period  (1741-1778) 

I  knew  that  all  my  talent  came  from  a  certain  warmth  of 

soul  regarding  the  subjects  I  had  to  treat,  and  that  it  was  only 

the  love  of  the  great,  the  true,  and  the  good  that  could  animate 

my  genius.  ...     I  have  never  been  able  to  write  except  from 

passion. 

Rousseau,  Confessions^  Bk.  X. 

Rousseau's  early  education,  failing  to  discipline 
his  instincts,  and  leaving  him  in  a  state  of  animal 
spontaneity,  had  produced  the  man  whom  we  have 
seen.  Toward  his  thirtieth  year,  thanks  partly  to 
poor  health,  partly  to  rather  extensive  reading,  he 
began,  as  we  have  seen,  to  realize  his  condition  and  to 
have  dim  glimpses,  still  in  a  sensuous  way  indeed,  of 
a  higher.  His  sated  sensuality  made  him  think  of 
hell,  while  the  vague  thrill  of  delight  which  he  felt 
in  the  presence  of  sublime  nature  was  objectified  into 
a  god.^  At  all  events,  he  began  to  make  good  reso- 
lutions, which  is  the  first  step  in  moral  life.     And  he 

1  See  Confessions,  Pt.  I.,  Bk.  VI.  It  is  perhaps  worth  noting 
that  this  is  exactly  the  god  of  Faust,  at  the  time  when  he  is  trying 
to  ruin  Gretchen.  "  Feeling  is  all,"  he  says,  at  the  close  of  a  gush 
of  immoral  sentimentality.  The  result  proves  the  moral  value  of 
such  a  god.    Rousseau  sat  for  much  in  the  portrait  of  Faust. 

50 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  51 

was  now  about  to  enter  a  new  school,  very  conducive 
to  such  life,  —  the  school  of  experience,  which,  as  Jean 
Paul  says,  is  an  excellent  schoolmistress,  though  the 
fees  are  rather  high. 

In  turning  his  face  to  Paris,  Rousseau  meant  to  win 
distinction  and  fortune  as  a  musician.  He  had  made 
considerable  progress  in  musical  knowledge  and  even 
aspired  to  be  a  composer.  The  idea  of  literary 
authorship  had  hardly  yet  dawned  upon  him.  On 
his  way  he  stopped  at  Lyons,  where  he  obtained 
several  letters  of  introduction,  and  had  a  momentary, 
but  violent,  love-spasm,  which,  however,  did  not 
detain  him.  "I  reached  Paris,''  he  says,  "in  the 
autumn  of  1741,  with  fifteen  louis  of  ready  money 
in  my  pocket,  my  comedy  Narcisse,  and  my  musical 
project  as  my  sole  resources.  Having,  therefore,  no 
time  to  lose,  I  made  haste  to  take  advantage  of  my 
letters  of  introduction."  He  was  well  received. 
His  "musical  project,"  which  was  nothing  less  than 
a  new  system  of  musical  notation,  was  presented  to 
the  Academy  of  Sciences,  but  failed  to  meet  with  the 
recognition  he  had  expected.  His  Narcisse,  though 
praised  by  Fontenelle  and  Diderot,  with  whom,  among 
other  notabilities,  he  had  become  intimate,  was  not 
then  brought  on  the  stage.  He  consequently  relapsed, 
with  a  kind  of  desperate  delight,  into  his  habitual 
indolence,  and  would  soon  have  been  reduced  to  ab- 
ject poverty,  had  not  a  wise  Jesuit  father  advised  him 
to  try  his  fortune  with  the  ladies.  He  did  so,  and, 
notwithstanding  his  incurable  awkwardness  and  rus- 
ticity of  manner,  and  his  fatal  habit  of  making  effu- 
sive love  to  every  woman  he  met,  no  matter  what  her 


62  ROUSSEAU 

rank  or  age,  he  was  able,  through  one  of  his  patron- 
esses, Madame  de  Broglie,  to  obtain  a  situation  as 
secretary  to  a  recently  appointed  ambassador  to  Ven- 
ice, the  Comte  de  Montaigu.  In  this  position,  which 
brought  him  in  contact  with  diplomatic  and  political 
life  —  in  a  -word,  with  the  "  great  world  " —  for  the  first 
time,  he  seems  to  have  conducted  himself  with  energy 
and  firmness,  though  not  always  with  prudence,  and 
he  retained  it  for  eighteen  months.  He  finally  quar- 
relled with  the  ambassador,  who  was  an  incompetent, 
negligent  coxcomb,  and  returned  to  France  —  without 
his  salary.  For  a  long  time  all  his  endeavors  to 
obtain  this  were  in  vain  —  a  fact  which  made  a  deep 
impression  on  him.  ''  The  injustice  and  uselessness," 
he  says,  "  of  my  complaints  left  in  my  soul  a  germ  of 
indignation  against  our  stupid  civil  institutions,  in 
which  the  true  good  of  the  public  and  real  justice  are 
always  sacrificed  to  some  indefinable,  apparent  order, 
in  reality  destructive  of  all  order,  and  merely  adding 
the  sanction  of  public  authority  to  the  oppression  of 
the  weak  and  the  iniquity  of  the  strong."  And  this 
was  not  the  only  profound  impression  made  on  him 
by  his  sojourn  in  Venice.  In  his  official  life,  he 
learnt  the  hollowness  and  corruption  of  diplomacy 
and  officialism;  in  his  private  life,  in  which  he  saw 
much  of  the  seamy  side  of  Venice,  he  came  to  close 
quarters  with  forms  of  depravity  that  disgusted  even 
his  not  over-healthy  sensuality,  and  touched  his 
better  nature.  He  returned  from  "the  most  immoral 
of  cities"  a  somewhat  sobered  and  reflective  man,* 

1  A  letter  which  he  wrote  to  a  lady  who  received  him  badly  on 
his  return,  because  he  had  dared  to  quarrel  with  an  ambassador, 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  53 

and,  what  is  more,  with  a  little  sense  of  his  own  per- 
sonal dignity  as  a  man. 

On  his  return  to  Paris,  Eousseau  resumed  his 
Bohemian  life.  For  a  short  time  he  lived  with  a 
much-admired  Spanish  friend;  but,  on  his  departure, 
desiring  to  enjoy  entire  independence,  he  moved  to  a 
little  inn  near  the  Luxembourg,  meaning  to  resume 
his  musical  studies  and  composition.  His  landlady 
was  a  woman  of  the  coarsest  sort,  and  most  of  the 
guests,  Irish  or  Gascons,  were  like  her,  Kousseau 
being  the  only  decent  person  among  them!  They 
were  waited  upon  by  a  poor,  hard-working  girl, 
named  Therese  Le  Vasseur,  from  Orleans,  who  soon 
became  the  butt  of  all  the  coarse  ribaldry  of  the 
house.  Eousseau  alone  took  her  part;  a  sympathy 
sprang  up  between  them,  which  soon  passed  into 
what  he  called  love,  and  in  a  few  days  the  ex- 
secretary  of  the  Venetian  embassy,  wishing  to  find  a 
successor  to  his  "  mamma, "  as  he  says,  made  the  poor 
creature  his  wife,  in  all  but  the  name.  He  promised 
never  to  abandon  her,  and  never  to  marry  her,  and  he 
kept  his  word  to  his  dying  day,  from  1744  to  1778. 
There  is  no  accounting  for  tastes;  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  Kousseau  found  in  his  Therese,  who  had 

reveals  his  state  of  mind  at  this  time.  Here  are  some  extracts :  "  I 
am  sorry,  madam  ;  I  have  made  a  mistake.  I  thought  you  just  :  I 
ought  to  have  remembered  that  you  are  noble.  I  ought  to  have  felt 
that  it  is  unbecoming  in  me,  a  plebeian,  to  make  claims  against  a 
gentleman.  Have  I  ancestors,  titles  ?  Is  equity  without  parchment 
equity  ?  "  .  .  .  "  If  he  [the  ambassador]  has  no  dignity  of  soul,  it  is 
because  his  nobility  enables  him  to  be  without  it  ;  if  he  is  hand  in 
glove  with  all  that  is  filthiest  in  the  most  immoral  of  cities  ;  if  he 
is  the  chum  of  pickpockets  ;  if  he  is  one  himself,  it  is  because  his 
ancestors  had  honor  instead  of  him." 


64  ROUSSEAU 

few  personal  charms,  and  who  could  never  tell  the 
time  on  a  clock-face,  remember  the  order  of  the 
months,  or  give  change  for  a  franc,  what  was  per- 
manently congenial  to  his  sensuous,  indolent  nature. 
What  he  wanted  was  not  stimulation  or  intellectual 
companionship,  but  steady,  unexacting  affection,  and 
the  thousand  little  soothing  attentions  that  are  quite 
compatible  with  gross  stupidity.  These  he  found, 
and  his  loyalty  to  her  through  all  changes  of  fortune, 
amid  good  and  evil  repute,  is  perhaps  the  noblest 
trait  in  his  whole  life.  What  mattered  it  to  him  that 
other  persons  saw  in  her  only  coarseness  and  greed? 
he  was  content.  "In  the  presence  of  those  we  love," 
he  says,  "feeling  nourishes  the  intelligence,  as  well 
as  the  heart,  and  there  is  no  need  to  go  elsewhere  in 
quest  of  ideas.  I  lived  with  my  Therese  as  agreeably 
as  with  the  finest  genius  in  the  world."  ...  "I  saw 
that  she  loved  me  sincerely,  and  this  redoubled  my 
tenderness.  This  intimacy  took  the  place  of  every- 
thing for  me.  The  future  did  not  touch  me,  or 
touched  me  only  as  the  present  prolonged.  I  desired 
only  to  insure  its  duration.  This  attachment  rendered 
all  other  sorts  of  dissipation  superfluous  and  insipid. 
I  went  out  only  to  visit  Therese :  her  home  became 
almost  mine." 

Rousseau's  relation  to  Therese  did  one  thing,  at 
least,  for  him;  it  steadied  him,  and  gave  him  peace 
to  work.  So  he  toiled  away  at  musical  composition, 
and  tried,  through  his  friends,  to  bring  his  work 
before  the  public,  but  without  success.  Discouraged 
at  last,  and  having  to  provide,  not  only  for  himself, 
but  also  for  Therese  and  her  whole  family,  he  attached 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  66 

himself,  in  a  somewhat  nondescript  capacity,  to  cer- 
tain wealthy  patrons,  who  gave  him  a  small  salary. 
With  these  he  passed  the  autumn  of  1747  at  the  castle 
of  Chenonceau,  on  the  Cher,  in  great  luxury;  but, 
when  he  returned,  a  great  surprise  awaited  him.  His 
Therese  was  about  to  give  birth  to  a  child  —  an  event 
for  which  he  was  not  at  all  prepared.  And  here  the 
worst  side  of  his  character,  his  utter  want  of  any 
sense  of  moral  responsibility  and  natural  affection,- 
came  to  the  surface.  As  soon  as  the  child  was  born, 
it  was  sent,  despite  the  heartbroken  remonstrances  of 
the  mother,  to  the  foundling  hospital,  and  was  never 
again  seen  or  recognized  by  its  parents.  We  may 
anticipate  somewhat,  by  adding  that  four  other  chil- 
dren, born  to  them  later,  all  shared  the  same  fate. 
With  all  his  gushing  sentimentality  and  sensuous 
sympathy,  Rousseau  recoiled  from  the  tenderest, 
sweetest,  and  most  sacred  of  all  human  duties, — the 
nurture  and  training  of  his  own  offspring.  Speaking 
of  the  exposure  of  his  second  child,  he  says :  "  Not  a 
bit  more  reflection  on  my  part;  not  a  bit  more  ap- 
proval on  the  part  of  the  mother.  She  groaned  and 
obeyed."  And  this  was  the  man  who  could  not  see 
her  gibed  by  the  Irish  and  Gascon  abbes ! 

About  this  time,  Rousseau  became  acquainted  with 
Madame  d'fipinay  and  Mademoiselle  de  Bellegarde, 
afterwards  Com.tesse  d'Houdetot,  both  of  whom  were 
destined  to  play  important  parts  in  his  life.  Now 
also,  mainly  through  his  connection  with  the  Abbe 
Condillac  and  Diderot,  he  began  to  think  of  literary 
composition,  and  planned  a  periodical  to  be  called  Le 
Persijleur,  which,  luckily,  never  saw  the  light.     He 


56  EOUSSEAU 

did,  however,  write  the  article  on  Music  for  the  En- 
cydopMie,  which  Diderot  and  D'Alembert  were  at  that 
time  preparing  to  issue.  The  progress  of  this  work 
was  interrupted  by  the  arrest  and  imprisonment  of 
the  former,  on  account  of  his  Letter  on  the  Blind. 
Confined  at  first  in  the  donjon  at  Vincennes,  Diderot 
was  afterwards,  on  his  parole,  allowed  the  liberty  of 
the  castle  and  park,  and  here  his  wife  and  friends 
visited  him.  Among  the  most  enthusiastic  of  the 
latter  was  Rousseau,  who  went  every  other  day.  It 
was  on  one  of  these  visits  that  an  event  occurred 
which  affected  his  whole  subsequent  career,  by  throw- 
ing him  into  the  path  on  which  he  gained  both  influ- 
ence and  fame.  It  must  be  described  in  his  own 
words :  "  The  summer  of  1749  was  one  of  excessive 
heat.  It  is  two  leagues  from  Paris  to  Vincennes. 
Unable  to  pay  for  a  cab,  I  started  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  and  walked,  when  I  was  alone,  and  I 
walked  quick  to  arrive  the  sooner."  ...  "To  moder- 
ate my  pace,  I  resolved  to  carry  some  books  with  me. 
One  day  I  took  the  Mercure  de  France,  and,  as  I 
walked  along  reading  it,  my  eye  fell  on  this  question, 
proposed  by  the  Academy  of  Dijon  as  the  subject  of 
the  following  year's  prize  essay:  Has  the  Progress  of 
the  Arts  and  Sciences  contributed  to  corrupt  or  to  purify 
Morals?  On  reading  this,  I  instantly  saw  a  new  uni- 
verse, and  became  a  new  man."  ...  "If  ever  there 
was  anything  like  a  sudden  inspiration,  it  was  the 
movement  that  took  place  in  me  on  that  occasion. 
Instantly  I  felt  my  mind  dazzled  by  a  thousand 
lights.  Crowds  of  brilliant  ideas  presented  them- 
selves all  at  once,  with  a  force  and  a  confusion  which 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  67 

threw  me  into  an  inexpressible  tumult.  I  became  as 
dizzy  as  if  I  had  been  intoxicated.  I  was  seized  with 
a  violent  palpitation  which  made  my  bosom  heave. 
No  longer  able  to  breathe  while  I  walked,  I  threw 
myself  down  under  one  of  the  trees  of  the  avenue, 
and  there  remained  for  half  an  hour  in  such  a  state  of 
agitation  that,  when  I  got  up,  I  observed  that  the 
whole  front  of  my  vest  was  wet  with  my  tears,  though 
I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  shed  any."  ...  "If  I 
could  have  written  down  a  fourth  part  of  what  I  felt 
and  saw  under  that  tree,  with  what  clearness  would  I 
have  exposed  all  the  contradictions  of  our  social  sys- 
tem; with  what  force  would  I  have  laid  bare  all  the 
abuses  of  our  institutions;  with  what  simplicity  would 
I  have  proved  that  man  is  naturally  good,  and  that 
it  is  solely  through  institutions  that  men  become 
wicked !  "  .  .  .  "On  arriving  at  Vincennes,  I  was  in 
a  state  of  agitation  bordering  on  delirium,  Diderot 
perceived  this.  I  told  him  the  cause.  He  encour- 
aged me  to  give  vent  to  my  ideas  and  compete  for  the 
prize.  I  did  so,  and  from  that  moment  I  was  lost. 
All  the  rest  of  my  life  and  misfortunes  were  the  in- 
evitable result  of  this  moment  of  bewilderment.  Mj'* 
feelings  rose,  with  utterly  inconceivable  rapidity,  to 
the  height  of  my  ideas.  All  my  petty  passions  were 
stifled  by  enthusiasm  for  truth,  freedom,  virtue;  and 
what  is 'yet  more  astonishing,  this  effervescence  kept 
up  in  my  heart  for  over  four  or  five  years,  to  a  degree 
in  which  I  have  never  known  it  to  occur  in  the  heart 
of  any  other  man."  ^ 

1  This  translation  is  made  partly  from  the  Confessions,  Pt.  II.,  Bk. 
VIII.,  and  partly  from  the  second  of  the  Letters  to  M.  Malesherbes. 


58  ROUSSEAU 

Such  is  Rousseau's  account  of  his  conversion  to 
literature  and  to  the  advocacy  of  truth,  right,  and 
liberty.  Though  we  need  not  accept  its  details  as 
literal  facts,  we  may  fairly  say  that  this  conversion 
was  due,  not  to  calm  conviction,  based  upon  long  and 
profound  reflection,  but  simply  to  the  direction  of 
his  ardent  and  effusive  imagination  upon  a  new  and 
attractive  series  of  Arcadian  pictures  of  quiet  bliss, 
contrasted  with  the  noisy  and  distressing  scenes  in 
which  he  found  himself.  His  essay  won  the  Dijon 
Academy's  prize,  and  this  encouraged  him  to  continue 
writing. 

Meantime,  he  had  hired  a  small  apartment,  fur- 
nished it,  and  taken  Therese  and  her  parents  to  live 
with  him.  Here  he  spent  the  next  seven  years,  in  a 
way  which  must  be  described  in  his  own  words: 
"  The  heart  of  my  Therese  was  that  of  an  angel.  Our 
attachment  increased  with  our  intimacy,  and  we  felt 
more  and  more  every  day  how  truly  we  were  made 
for  each  other.  If  our  pleasures  could  be  described, 
they  would  excite  a  laugh  by  their  simplicity:  our 
private  walks  outside  the  city,  where  I  munificently 
spent  eight  or  ten  cents  at  some  alehouse ;  our  little 
suppers  by  my  window-sill,  where  we  sat,  face  to  face, 
on  two  chairs  placed  on  a  trunk  which  filled  the 
embrasure.  So  placed,  with  the  window  as  our  table, 
we  breathed  the  air,  we  could  see  the  neighborhood 
and  the  passers-by,  and,  though  on  the  fourth  floor, 
look  down  into  the  street,  while  we  ate.  Who  shall 
describe,  who  shall  feel,  the  delights  of  those  meals, 
consisting  of  nothing  more  than  a  quartern  loaf  of 
bread,  a  few  cherries,  a  piece  of  cheese,  and  a  half 


ROUSSEAU'S   LIFE  59 

pint  of  wine,  which  we  drank  between  us?  Friend- 
ship, confidence,  intimacy,  sweetness  of  soul,  how  de- 
licious your  relishes  are  !  Sometimes  we  remained 
there  till  midnight,  without  being  aware  of  it,  or  noting 
the  time,  until  the  old  mamma  called  our  attention  to 
it."  In  this  description  we  find  the  old  vagabond 
Rousseau,  only  transferred  to  a  city  garret,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  that  ideal  of  a  quiet,  aimless,  unen- 
terprising, dalliant  life,  which  underlies  all  his 
writings. 

In  Paris,  Rousseau,  notwithstanding  his  mode  of 
life,  and  his  ebullient,  intractable  disposition,  made 
many  friends  both  in  the  fashionable  and  in  the 
literary  worlds,  and  was  recognized  as  a  rising  man, 
both  in  music  and  in  literature.  His  opera,  Le 
Devin  du  Village,  was  played,  with  great  success, 
before  the  king  at  Versailles,  and  would  have  earned 
him  a  pension  had  he  played  his-  cards  well.  His 
Narcisse  likewise  was  performed.  His  essay  on  the 
Moral  Effect  of  the  Arts  and  Sciences  had  identified 
him  with  certain  rather  paradoxical  principles  and 
made  him  an  object  of  universal  curiosity,  so  that  he 
now  resolved  to  live  up  to  these  even  in  externals. 
He  gave  up  a  public  office  which  brought  him  a  good 
salary,  and  took  to  earning  his  living  by  copying 
music.  Another  change  must  be  described  in  his  own 
words:  "I  began  my  reform  with  my  dress.  I  left 
off  gold  facings  and  white  stockings ;  I  put  on  a  round 
wig;  I  laid  aside  my  sword;  I  sold  my  watch,  saying 
to  myself,  with  incredible  delight,  'Thank  heaven,  I 
shall  no  longer  need  to  know  what  the  time  is ! '  "  In 
doing  this,  Rousseau  wished  to  show  that  he,  once  for 


60  ROUSSEAU 

all,  identified  himself  with  the  common  people,  with 
whom  indeed  his  chief  sympathies  were.  He  was  too 
immediate  and  capricious  ever  to  school  himself  into 
the  manners  of  polite  society,  or  to  find  satisfaction 
in  its  hollow  formalities,  and  he  would  have  been 
wise  had  he  avoided  it  altogether,  as  he  did  not.  In 
1753  he  wrote  his  second  'discourse'  —  on  the  ques- 
tion, What  is  the  Origin  of  Inequality  among  Men,  and 
is  it  authorized  by  the  Natural  Law  ?  —  which,  though 
failing  to  win  the  Dijon  prize,  added  to  his  reputation, 
and  carried  his  thoughts  further  on  in  the  direction 
in  which  they  had  for  some  time  been  moving  —  that 
of  democracy. 

In  spite  of  all  these  successes,  Eousseau  got  weary 
of  the  close  atmosphere  of  Paris,  the  obtrusive  curi- 
osity of  visitors,  and  the  calls  of  social  life,  —  all  the 
more  that  he  had  for  some  time  been  suffering  from 
a  painful  malady.  Accordingly,  in  1754,  he  paid  a 
visit,  in  company  with  Therese,  to  his  native  city. 
On  his  way  he  went  to  see  his  "mamma,"  whom  he 
found  a  poverty-stricken  wreck.  "Then,"  he  says, 
"was  the  moment  to  pay  off  my  debts.  I  ought  to 
have  left  all  and  followed  her,  clinging  to  her  till  her 
last  hour,  and  sharing  whatever  might  be  her  fate. 
I  did  nothing.  ...  I  groaned  over  her  and  did  not 
follow  her."  At  Geneva,  he  met  with  an  enthusiastic 
reception,  returned,  after  twenty-six  years  of  apos- 
tacy,  to  Protestantism,  and  was  restored  to  his  rights 
as  a  citizen.  He  even  made  up  his  mind  to  settle 
there  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  and  returned  to  Paris 
with  the  intention  of  preparing  for  so  doing.  Find- 
ing, however,  that  Voltaire,  whose  unfriendly  influ- 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  61 

ence  he  dreaded,  had  settled  near  Geneva,  and  that  the 
Introduction  to  his  second  discourse,  in  which  he  had 
spoken  of  the  Genevese  constitution,  had  given  offence 
to  his  countrymen,  he  changed  his  mind,  and,  having 
just  then  received  from  his  friend,  Madame  d'^pinay, 
the  offer  of  a  home  in  the  charming  Hermitage, 
near  Montmorency,  he  accepted,  and  in  the  spring  of 
1756  removed  thither,  with  Therese  and  her  mother. 
The  father,  over  eighty  years  of  age,  was  packed  off 
to  the  poorhouse,  where  he  died  almost  immediately, 
to  the  great  grief  of  Therese. 

Amid  the  delights  of  his  new  residence,  Eousseau 
was  for  a  while  in  the  most  ecstatic  condition.  He 
had  money  enough  to  live  on  for  some  time,  a  fair 
prospect  of  paying  work,  devoted  friends,  self-set 
tasks  in  which  he  delighted,  and  natural  surroundings 
in  which  he  could  thrill  and  gush  to  his  heart's  con- 
tent. But  this  was  too  much.  He  did,  indeed,  con- 
tinue to  copy  music;  but  his  other  tasks  were  soon 
mostly  abandoned  or  forgotten,  while  he  gave  himself 
up  to  his  natural  indolence  and  dreaming.  With- 
drawing almost  completely  from  society,  he  buried 
himself  in  the  woods,  and,  with  his  morbid  and  lurid 
imagination,  devoted  himself  to  the  creation  of  a 
Mohammedan  paradise  of  sensual  delights,  in  which 
he  revelled  day  and  night.  From  this  time  on,  he 
never  ceased  to  suffer  from  what  may  be  called  imagi- 
native insanity.  The  effects  of  this  showed  them- 
selves at  the  first  touch  with  reality.  Having  been 
visited  by  the  Comtesse  d'Houdetot,  the  sister-in-law 
of  his  patroness,  he  at  once  enveloped  her  in  all  the 
products  of  his  diseased  imagination,  and  so  conceived 


62  ROUSSEAU 

for  her  a  frantic  passion,  whose  depth  he  measured  by 
the  nervous  derangement  it  caused  in  him,  and  the 
gush  of  passionate  bombast  it  brought  upon  his  lips.^ 
Madame  d'Houdetot,  however,  having  not  only  a 
husband,  but  a  lover  besides,  while  allowing  him  to 
gush,  did  not  respond  as  he  desired,  and  the  only 
result  of  his  folly  was  that  he  embroiled  himself  with 
Madame  d'fipinay,  and  many  of  his  other  friends. 
The  former,  a  woman  of  very  loose  life,  was  jealous 
of  her  sister-in-law,  while  the  latter,  seeing  the  effect 
of  solitude  upon  him,  tried  to  induce  him  to  return 
to  Paris,  or  to  separate  from  Therese,  who,  with  her 
rapacious,  deceitful  mother,  was  bringing  him  to 
poverty,  and  becoming  more  and  more  a  burden  to 
him.  For  both  women  they  undertook  to  provide. 
Rousseau,  resenting  all  interference  with  his  caprices, 
—  they  were  nothing  more,  —  suddenly  left  the  Her- 
mitage, and  accused  his  friends  of  having  formed  a 
conspiracy,  for  which  he  could  never  assign  any 
motive,  to  ruin  him.  One  can  excuse  him  only  by 
saying  that  he  was  emotionally  insane. 

In  the  middle  of  December  he  moved  with  Therese 
to  a  rented  cottage  at  Montmorency,  having  sent  the 
mother  about  her  business.  Feeling  himself  here 
dependent  on  no  one,  and  not  being  in  very  opulent 
circumstances,  he  began  to  work,  and  the  next  four 
years  were  the  most  productive  of  his  whole  life. 
They  produced  The  New  Helo'ise,  the  Social  Contract, 
and  £mile.     The  first,  which  had  been  begun  at  the 

1  He  maintained  ever  afterwards  that  she  was  the  only  real  love 
of  his  life,  that  he  had  never  completely  loved  even  his  "  mamma," 
or  his  Therese  at  all !    Such  is  the  power  of  a  fixed  idea  ! 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  63 

Hermitage,  under  the  influence  of  his  passion  for 
Madame  d'Houdetot,  was  finished  in  1759,  and  pub- 
lished two  years  later.  The  Social  Contract,  meant  to 
be  part  of  a  larger  work.  Political  Institutions,  came 
out  in  1762,  only  a  few  weeks  before  J^mile. 

At  Montmorency,  Kousseau  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  Duke  of  Luxembourg,  Marshal  of  France,  and 
his  wife,  who  introduced  him  into  their  very  aristo- 
cratic circle,  made  him  acquainted  with  great  people, 
and  in  every  way  treated  him  with  the  utmost  kind- 
ness and  consideration,  so  that  in  their  society  he  had 
a  season  of  comparative  rest  and  comfort.  He  read 
the  whole  of  The  New  Helo'ise  and  £mile  to  the  duchess 
in  bed,  and  in  consequence  became  a  great  favorite 
with  her.  She  even  undertook  to  see  to  the  printing 
and  publication  of  £mile,  and  made  the  contracts. 
Thus  Rousseau  began  to  feel  that,  after  his  stormy 
past,  there  might  be  in  store  for  him  a  peaceful  old 
age,  with  a  competency,  honor,  and  friends.  But  this 
was  not  to  be. 

No  sooner  had  JSmile  appeared  than  it  roused  a 
storm,  whose  extent  and  fury  it  is,  at  first  sight,  diffi- 
cult to  understand.  Within  a  month,  the  Parliament 
condemned  the  book,  ordering  it  to  be  burnt  and  its 
obboxious  author  arrested.  To  this  result  there  is  no 
doubt  that  persons  who  had  once  been  his  friends  con- 
tributed. The  truth  is,  Rousseau,  by  his  book,  had 
placed  himself  in  opposition  to  two  powerful  and 
well-defined  parties :  (1)  the  orthodox,  religious  party, 
which  included  the  court,  (2)  the  philosophic  or 
rationalistic  party,  at  whose  head  stood  Voltaire  and 
the  Encyclopaedists  —  Diderot,  D'Alembert,   Grimm, 


64  ROUSSEAU 

etc.  The  latter  was  the  prime  mover  in  the  storm. 
Voltaire  and  his  followers  had  for  many  years  been 
laboring,  with  might  and  main,  to  discredit  and 
destroy  all  religion,  all  belief  in  the  supernatural, 
and  were  flattering  themselves  that  they  would  suc- 
ceed in  replacing  it  by  what  they  called  Eeason.  Now 
came  Rousseau,  whom  they  had  in  vain  tried  to  add 
to  their  ranks,  and  not  only  reinstated  religion  and 
religious  belief,  but  did  so  with  a  power  and  a  bril- 
liancy of  literary  style  that  threatened  not  only  to 
defeat  their  purpose,  but  even  to  cast  themselves  and 
their  works  into  the  shade.  This,  of  course,  was  not 
to  be  tamely  borne.  Voltaire  especially,  who  hated 
Rousseau,  and  whose  vanity  shrank  from  no  meanness, 
trickery,  or  deceit,  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  crush 
him ;  and  he  did  this  so  adroitly  that  his  victim  was 
never  able  to  trace  to  its  source  the  persecution  which 
remorselessly  dogged  him.^  But  if  the  party  of  Vol- 
taire started  the  persecution,  the  orthodox  party  was 
but  too  ready  to  carry  it  on.  The  theology  and 
religion  expounded  and  advocated  in  JSmile,  especially 
in  the  Savoyard  Vicar's  Confession  of  Faith,  not  only 
set  at  open  defiance  all  the  dogmas  of  the  Church,  but 
were  well  calculated,  by  their  simplicity  and  sweet 
sentimentality,  to  become  widely  popular,  and  under- 
mine the  Church's  influence.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, we  need  not  be  surprised  to  find  that  the  two 
mutually  hostile  parties  combined  to  procure  the  con- 
demnation of  Rousseau  and  his  book. 

We  have  seen  that  the  Duchess  of  Luxembourg  had 

1  The  infamous  libel,  which  Rousseau  so  unjustly  attributed  to  the 
Swiss  pastor  Vernes,  was  from  the  hand  of  Voltaire. 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  65 

made  the  arrangements  for  the  printing  of  ^mile.  It 
was  through  her  he  learnt  that  his  arrest  was  about 
to  be  decreed.  She  had  received  a  letter  to  that  effect 
from  the  Prince  de  Conti,  a  friend  of  Kousseau^s,  and 
so  great  was  her  agitation,  not  only  on  account  of  the 
latter,  but  also  on  her  own,  that  she  roused  him  from 
sleep  and  called  him  to  her  bedside  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning  of  June  9,  1762.  It  was  intimated  that, 
if  he  attempted  to  escape,  no  effort  would  be  made  to 
detain  him.  He  accordingly  determined  upon  this 
course,  one  chief  motive  being  his  unwillingness  to 
compromise  the  duchess  and  her  family.  Several 
places  of  refuge  were  suggested  to  him ;  but  he  finally 
chose  the  nearest,  Switzerland,  and  made  all  possible 
haste  to  reach  it.  On  the  way,  he  composed  three 
cantos  of  a  poem  —  The  Levite  of  Ephraim.  On 
reaching  Yverdun,  he  stopped  for  a  few  days  with  a 
friend,  considering  what  he  should  do  next,  where 
he  should  settle.  He  would  gladly  have  gone  to 
Geneva,  but  found  it  closed  against  him.  There,  too, 
his  book  had  been  burnt  and  a  decree  issued  against 
him.  "These  two  decrees,"  he  says,  "were  the  signal 
for  a  shriek  of  malediction  against  me  from  one  end 
of  Europe  to  the  other  —  a  shriek  of  unexampled  fury. 
All  the  papers,  journals,  pamphlets,  tolled  the  most 
awful  tocsin."  Despairing  of  finding  a  refuge  in 
Switzerland,  he  turned  to  the  canton  of  Neuchatel, 
which  at  that  time  formed  part  of  the  dominions  of 
Frederick  the  Great,  and  was  governed  by  Marshal 
Keith,  an  exiled  Scottish  Jacobite  of  the  noblest  char- 
acter. Though  he  had  inveighed  against  Frederick, 
Rousseau,  with  his  usual  frankness,   wrote  to  him, 


66  ROUSSEAU 

telling  him  lie  was  in  his  power  and  asking  for  an 
asylum.  The  Prussian  king  not  only  granted  him 
this,  but  directed  Marshal  Keith  to  supply  his  needs, 
and  even  build  him  a  house,  if  he  so  desired.  Rous- 
seau declined  his  gifts,  but  thought  better  of  him  ever 
afterwards.  Marshal  Keith  proved  to  be  the  best 
friend  he  ever  had.  Rousseau  settled  at  Motiers,  at 
the  foot  of  Mount  Jura,  and  remained  there  for  over 
three  years,  having  sent  for  Therese,  his  books  and 
papers.  Though  he  frittered  away  his  time  in  child- 
ish pursuits,  writing  almost  nothing,  things  went  well 
enough  till  the  departure  of  Marshal  Keith,  when  the 
people  of  the  village,  stirred  up  by  narrow-minded 
pastors,  and  prejudiced  by  the  Armenian  costume 
which,  on  account  of  a  troublesome  malady,  he  had 
adopted,  began  to  threaten  him  with  violence.  This 
finally  went  so  far  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  the 
place  and  betake  himself  to  the  Island  of  Saint  Peter, 
in  the  Lake  of  Bienne,  in  the  territory  of  Berne. 
Here  he  had  reason  to  think  that  he  would  be  unmo- 
lested, and,  sending  for  Therese,  gave  himself  up  to 
a  life  similar  to  that  which  he  had  for  some  time  led 
at  the  Charmettes,  and  later  at  the  Hermitage.  He 
revelled  in  nature,  botanized  and  sentimentalized  from 
morning  till  night,  and  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  bliss. 
His  description  of  his  life  here  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  Arcadian  idyls  in  existence.  At  the  end  of 
six  weeks,  however,  his  persecutors  found  him  out, 
and  he  received  a  peremptory  order  to  leave  the  island, 
and  the  territory  of  Berne,  within  twenty-four  hours, 
on  pain  of  arrest  and  forcible  expulsion.  Stupefied 
and  almost  heartbroken,  he  begged  the  authorities  to 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  67 

imprison  him  in  the  island  for  the  rest  of  his  life ;  he 
would  then  be  safe,  and  he  desired  nothing  better. 
But  all  in  vain!  He  left  the  island  in  the  end  of 
October,  1765,  not  knowing  whither  to  turn  his 
steps.  He  thought  of  Corsica,  of  Berlin,  where  he 
would  have  had  the  protection  of  Marshal  Keith,  of 
England,  which  had  been  strongly  recommended  to 
him  by  certain  of  his  patronesses,  and  where  he  hoped 
to  enjoy  the  friendship  of  David  Hume.  He  finally 
decided  for  the  last  of  the  three. ^ 

The  life  of  Rousseau  from  this  point  on,  having  no 
effect  upon  his  chief  works,  may  be  sketched  rapidly. 
We  shall  try  to  show  merely  how  his  undisciplined 
temperament,  and  the  theories  he  based  on  it,  led  to 
their  natural  results.  Some  of  these  had  already 
manifested  themselves  —  a  diseased,  sensuous  imagi- 
nation, suspicion,  willessness,  querulousness,  gloom. 
But  others  followed. 

On  his  way  to  England,  Rousseau  went  to  Paris,  to 
join  Hume.  Here,  instead  of  being  molested,  he  was 
lionized.  "  Voltaire  and  everybody  are  quite  eclipsed 
by  him,"  said  Hume.  In  spite  of  this,  Rousseau, 
who  sincerely  disliked  publicity,  was  eager  to  proceed, 
and,  early  in  January,  1766,  he  crossed  over  to  Eng- 
land with  his  new  friend.  In  London  he  received  the 
utmost  attention,  was  visited  by  the  most  distin- 
guished persons,  and  was  offered  a  pension  by  the 
king.  About  all  this,  however,  he  cared  little,  and 
was  anxious  only  to  find  a  quiet  retreat.     Several 

1  Rousseau's  Confessions  break  off  at  this  point.  The  projected 
third  volume  was  never  written.  For  what  follows  we  have  to 
depend  on  his  Reveries,  correspondence,  etc. 


68  KOUSSEAU 

places  were  thought  of;  but  he  finally  settled  upon 
Wootton  in  Derbyshire.  Here  he  was  offered  the  use 
of  a  spacious  house  by  a  wealthy  and  generous  Mr. 
Davenport,  but  insisted  upon  paying  rent  for  it. 
Removing  to  it  in  March,  and  being  soon  joined  by 
Therese,  he  resumed  his  life  with  Nature  and  his 
botany,  set  to  work  upon  his  Confessions,  which  he 
had  long  projected,  and  thought  he  was  going  to  be 
happy.  Soon,  however,  the  rudeness  of  the  climate, 
his  ignorance  of  English,  the  difficulties  caused  by 
Therese,  the  change  of  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  Eng- 
lish public,  as  evidenced  by  the  press,  and  Hume's 
lack  of  continual  satisfactory  responsiveness  to  his 
ardent  feelings,  brought  to  the  surface  the  morbid  sus- 
picion that  lurked  in  his  nature.  He  accused  Hume 
of  gross  treachery,  and  of  having  conspired  with  Vol- 
taire and  D'Alembert  to  ruin  him.^ 

Hume,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was  guiltless  of 
treachery;  but  his  cold,  passionless  nature  rendered 
him  incapable  of  understanding  the  man  he  had 
undertaken  to  befriend,  and  with  whose  known  in- 
firmities he  ought  to  have  borne,  while  his  vanity 
resented  anything  that  seemed  to  call  his  Pharisaic 
impeccability  in  question.     He  accordingly  printed  a 

1  Among  the  charges  which  he  brought  against  Hume  was  that 
of  having  written  a  letter  pretending  to  come  from  Frederick  the 
Great,  which  brought  great  ridicule  upon  him.  The  closing  words 
of  this  letter,  whose  real  author  was  the  coxcomb,  Horace  Walpole, 
may  be  quoted,  as  containing  some  truth:  *'  If  you  will  persist  in 
harrowing  your  soul  to  find  new  misfortunes,  choose  those  which 
you  prefer  :  I  am  a  king  and  can  procure  you  any  sort  you  like  •, 
and  I  will  do  what  you  need  not  expect  from  your  enemies,  I  will 
cease  to  persecute  you  when  you  cease  taking  pride  in  being  perse- 
cuted." 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  69 

defence  of  himself,  thus  dragging  before  the  public 
what  was  essentially  a  private  matter.  The  public 
took  it  up,  and  the  world  was  deluged  with  pamphlets 
on  both  sides.  Rousseau,  who  cared  nothing  for 
public  opinion,  preserved  a  dignified  silence.  Never- 
theless, he  became  more  and  more  unhappy,  and,  after 
sojourning  a  year  at  Wootton,  he  suddenly  disap- 
peared from  it,  leaving  behind  him  Therese  and  his 
effects.  He  was  found,  first  in  Lincolnshire,  and 
afterwards  at  Dover,  whence,  toward  the  end  of  May, 
1767,  he  crossed  over  to  Calais,  a  wretched  man,  full 
of  fears,  disordered  in  body  and  in  mind. 

For  the  next  three  years  he  wandered  about  from 
place  to  place,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  the  guest 
of  generous  patrons,  among  whom  were  the  Marquis 
de  Mirabeau  and  the  Prince  de  Conti.  In  the  chateau 
of  the  latter  at  Trye,  near  Gisors,  he  remained  a 
whole  year,  under  the  assumed  name  of  Renou,  and 
here  he  wrote  the  second  part  of  his  Confessions. 
Having  got  into  difficulties  through  Therese,  whose 
character  became  daily  more  brutal,  he  suddenly  left 
Trye,  meaning  to  go  to  Chambery  and  visit  old  scenes.^ 
But  he  never  reached  that  place.  He  passed  some  time 
at  Grenoble,  went  thence  to  Bourgoin,  where  he  spent 
over  half  a  year,  and  informally  married  Therese, 
thinking  thereby  to  regain  her  lost  affection,  and 
thence  to  Monquin,  where  he  passed  some  fifteen 
months.  Tired  at  last  of  wandering,  and  feeling  that 
he  might  with  safety  return  to   Paris,   he  repaired 

1  His  "  mamma  "  was  no  longer  living.  She  had  died  in  destitu- 
tion and  wretchedness,  in  1762,  while  he  was  at  Motiers,  botanizing 
and  trifling. 


70  ROUSSEAU 

thither  in  July,  1770,  and  settled  down  to  his  old 
life,  which  he  had  abandoned  fourteen  years  before, 
when  he  went  to  occupy  the  Hermitage.  Here  he 
passed  eight  years,  living  in  a  very  simple  way  on  a 
meagre  income,  which  he  eked  out  by  copying  music. 
He  still  continued,  however,  to  botanize,  to  write, 
and  to  compose  music.  His  Dialogues,  his  Reveries, 
and  some  minor  works  belong  to  this  period.  He  was 
still  visited  by  the  great,  the  fashionable,  the  wise, 
and  the  curious.  But  he  was  not  happy.  Therese 
was  daily  becoming  more  trying;  he  suffered  a  good 
deal  of  bodily  pain;  his  mind  was  morbid,  haunted 
by  phantoms  from  the  past,  fears  for  the  present,  and 
gloomy  forebodings  for  the  future ;  he  had  lost  many 
of  his  friends,  and  his  independence,  which  had  almost 
become  a  disease,  forbade  him  to  accept  aid  from 
those  whom  he  still  retained.  At  last,  however,  by 
the  advice  of  his  physician,  he  was  induced  to  accept 
the  invitation  of  M.  Girardin  to  go  and  live  at  his 
estate  of  Ermenonville,  some  twenty  miles  from  Paris. 
He  went  there  on  the  21st  of  May,  1778,  and  was  soon 
followed  by  Therese.  Country  life  seemed  to  bring 
back  some  of  his  old  enthusiasm,  and  he  was  revolving 
in  his  head  projects  for  the  future,  among  them  the 
continuation  of  £mile,  when,  on  the  2d  of  July,  he 
was  suddenly  taken  ill,  suffering  acute  pains.  On 
the  following  day  he  got  up,  and  was  preparing  to  go 
out,  when  he  was  seized  with  violent  shivering  and 
headache.  While  trying  to  swallow  some  medicine, 
he  fell  forward  on  the  ground,  and  almost  instantly 
expired,  at  the  age  of  sixty-six  years.  He  was  buried 
the  same  day  in  the  Island  of  the  Poplars,  in  the  Lake 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  71 

of  Ermenonville,  and  there  his  ashes  rested  till  the 
triumph  of  the  Revolution,  which  he  had  done  so 
much  to  bring  about.  ^  On  the  11th  of  October,  1793, 
they  were  removed,  amid  a  tumult  of  enthusiasm,  to 
Paris,  and  placed  in  the  Pantheon,  over  whose  portal 
are  inscribed  the  words:  Aux  grands  Hommes,  la 
Patrie  reconnaissante. 

This  sketch  of  Rousseau's  life,  imperfect  as  it  is, 
will  enable  us  to  form  a  conception  and  an  estimate  of 
his  character  and  ideals,  which  underlie  his  social  and 
educational  theories. 

We  shall  not  greatly  err,  if  we  say  that  the  founda- 
tion of  Rousseau's  character  was  spontaneity,  that  his 
whole  life  was  an  endeavor  to  give  free  and  uncon- 
strained expression  to  this,  and  that  his  works  were 
so  many  efforts  to  champion  it,  as  the  ideal  of  life, 
and  to  show  how  it  might  be  preserved,  free  from 
constraint  and  corruption.  In  Rousseau  himself,  this 
spontaneity,  naturally  very  rich  and  strong,  was  fos- 
tered by  an  education  which,  leaving  him  at  liberty  to 
follow  his  momentary  caprices,  fired  his  imagination 
and  made  it  ungovernable,  so  that  he  early  became 
utterly  incapable  of  submitting  to  any  restraint, 
regulation,  continuous  occupation,  or  duty,  however 
sacred.  He  lived  in,  and  for,  the  present  moment, 
seeking  to  draw  from  it  the  greatest  amount  of  enjoy- 
ment, tranquil  or  ecstatic,  as  his  mood  happened  to 
demand,  without  any  thought  of  past,  future,  or  the 
claims  of  others.     He  was  too  immediate  to  cherish 

1  The  report  that  he  committed  suicide  seems  utterly  destitute  of 
foundation.  [Since  this  was  written,  an  examination  of  his  skull  has 
placed  this  beyond  doubt.] 


72  ROUSSEAU 

either  love  or  hatred  for  absent  things  or  persons. 
He  was  without  malignity,  because  malignity  causes 
discomfort;  he  loved  for  the  pleasure  love  gave  him, 
and  when  that  ceased,  love  ceased.  He  was  equally 
a  stranger  to  revenge  and  gratitude.  He  could  aban- 
don his  best  friend,  and  then  weep  torrents  of  delicious 
tears  over  his  or  her  forlorn  condition.  He  could 
gush  over  his  friends  as  long  as  they  were  willing 
merely  to  gush  back ;  but,  when  they  showed  any  signs 
of  coldness,  or  tried  to  call  him  back  to  a  sense  of 
duty,  he  was  ready  to  accuse  them  of  the  grossest 
ingratitude  or  blackest  treachery.  Knowing  abso- 
lutely nothing  of  moral  discipline,  and  having  learnt 
none  of  those  moral  principles  which  render  perma- 
nent and  healthy  social  relations  possible,  he  easily 
got  disgusted  with  society,  and  was  always  ready  to 
withdraw  to  solitude,  which  he  could  people  with 
beings  endowed  with  prodigal  emotion,  duly  respon- 
sive to  his  own.  For  the  same  reason,  while  he  exulted 
in  virtue,  when  virtue  was  picturesque  and  pleasant, 
he  was  ready  to  give  way  to  the  basest  of  vices,  if  he 
could  thereby  obtain  pleasure  or  avoid  pain.  He 
could  never  prevail  upon  himself  to  do  anything  that 
was  disagreeable,  no  matter  what  law  of  duty  im- 
posed it  upon  him.  He  could  wax  eloquent  on  the 
duties  of  parents,  and  melt  into  tears  at  the  sight  of 
innocent  children;  yet  he  sent  his  own  offspring  to 
the  foundling  asylum.  Such  are  some  of  the  fruits 
of  spontaneity. 

But  perhaps  the  most  astonishing  thing  about  Rous- 
seau is,  that  he  went  through  life,  not  only  without 
learning  the  meaning  of  duty,  but  firmly  believing 


ROUSSEAU'S  LIFE  73 

that  the  life  of  pure  spontaneity  and  caprice  which  he 
led  was  the  ideal  life,  and  that  he  himself  was  the 
best  of  men.  This,  indeed,  he  openly  maintains.  So 
far,  indeed,  was  he  from  being  ashamed  of  his  undis- 
ciplined spontaneity,  that  he  wrote  his  Confessions  to 
prove  that  the  spontaneous  man  is  the  best  of  men. 
We  need  not  be  surprised,  then,  to  find  that  all  his 
works  are  so  many  pleas  for  spontaneity,  so  many 
attempts  to  show  all  the  evils  which  afflict  humanity 
to  be  due  to  restraints  placed  upon  spontaneity  or  at- 
tempts to  discipline  it ;  that  they  are  so  many  schemes 
for  making  humanity  blest,  by  the  removal  of  these 
restraints.  Indeed,  it  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to 
say  that  the  whole  aim  of  Rousseau's  literary  activity 
is  to  show  how  men  may  be  made  happy  and  con- 
tented, without  being  obliged  to  become  moral. 

But  what  Rousseau  sought  to  prove  by  eloquent 
words,  by  insidious  appeals  to  man's  natural  craving 
for  happiness  on  easy  terms,  he  disproved  by  his  own 
character,  his  actions,  and  the  sad  results  of  both. 
His  character,  with  its  obtrusive  independence,  due 
to  absence  of  all  acknowledgment  of  moral  ties,  is 
spongy,  unmanly,  and  repellent.  We  might  pity  him, 
if  he  did  not  pity  himself  so  much ;  but  we  can  in  no 
case  admire  or  love  him.  His  actions  are  merely  so 
many  efforts  to  obtain  self-satisfaction,  and  that,  too, 
of  a  purely  sensuous,  not  to  say  sensual,  sort.  Though 
often  imprudent,  he  is  never  heroic;  though  senti- 
mentally or  picturesquely  kind,  he  is  never  generous 
or  high-minded.  If  he  submits  to  wrong,  he  does  so 
more  from  sloth  than  from  magnanimity.  The  results 
of  his  character  and  actions,  of  which  his  theories  are 


74  ROUSSEAU 

but  the  (generalized  expression  and  defence,  are  a 
sufficient  warning  against  such  character,  actions,  and 
theories.  These  results  were  querulousness,  misery, 
and  insanity,  unillumined  by  one  ray  of  conscious 
heroism  or  moral  worth.  The  man  who  had  no  other 
interest  in  life  than  the  satisfaction  of  his  own  senses 
and  emotions,  found  life  meaningless,  when  satiety, 
abuse,  and  age  had  blunted  these;  and  when,  despite 
all  ^mnatural  stimulation  from  a  diseased  imagination, 
they  became  sources  of  pain,  instead  of  sources  of 
pleasure,  nothing  was  left  for  him  but  spontaneous 
reactions  in  the  form  of  querulousness,  self-pity,  and 
insanity.  A  sadder  old  age  than  Kousseau's  is  not 
often  recorded. 

As  the  above  estimate  of  Rousseau's  character  may 
seem  harsh  and  unsympathetic,  it  ought  to  be  added 
that  it  is  based  entirely  upon  his  own  account  of  him- 
self. In  order  to  show  this,  it  may  be  well  to  tran- 
scribe here  a  few  passages  from  the  four  letters  which 
tew  i-ote  to  M.  de  Malesherbes,  in  January,  1762,  in  his 
best  days,  shortly  before  the  publication  of  the  Social 
Contract  diTidi  Emile :  — 

' '  My  heart  cares  too  much  for  other  attachments,  to  care  so 
much  for  public  opinion.  I  am  too  fond  of  my  pleasure  and  my 
independence,  to  be  as  much  the  slave  of  vanity  as  they  sup- 
pose. A  man  for  whom  fortune  and  the  hope  of  a  brilliant 
future  never  outweighed  a  rendezvous  or  a  pleasant  supper,  is 
not  likely  to  sacrifice  his  honor  to  the  desire  of  being  talked 
about."  ...  "I  was  long  mistaken  as  to  the  cause  of  my  in- 
vincible disgust  with  human  society. "  ...  "  What,  then,  is  this 
cause  ?  It  is  simply  this  indomitable  spirit  of  liberty,  which 
nothing  has  been  able  to  overcome,  and  before  which  fortune, 
'  honors,  reputation  even,  are  as  nothing.  Certain  it  is  that  this 
spirit  of  liberty  is  due  less  to  pride  than  to  indolence  ;  but  this 


ROUSSEAU'S   LIFE  75 

indolence  is  incredible.  Everything  scares  it ;  the  smallest 
duties  of  civil  life  are  insupportable  to  it ;  a  word  to  speak,  a 
letter  to  write,  a  visit  to  pay,  as  soon  as  they  have  to  be  done, 
are  tortures  to  me.  This  is  why,  while  ordinary  intercourse 
with  men  is  odious  to  me,  friendship  is  so  dear  —  because  there 
is  no  duty  about  it.  You  follow  your  heart,  and  all  is  done. 
This  also  is  why  I  have  always  dreaded  kindnesses ;  for  every 
kindness  demands  gratitude,  and  I  feel  my  heart  ungrateful, 
simply  because  gratitude  is  a  duty.  In  a  word,  the  kind  of 
happiness  I  want  consists,  not  so  much  in  doing  what  I  wish, 
as  in  not  doing  what  I  don't  wish.  Active  life  has  no  tempta- 
tions for  me.  I  had  a  thousand  times  rather  do  nothing  than 
do  anything  against  my  will.  I  have  a  hundred  times  thought 
that  I  should  not  have  been  unhappy  in  the  Bastille,  having 
merely  to  stay  there."  .  .  .  "An  indolent  soul,  recoiling 
from  all  responsibilities,  and  an  ardent,  bilious  temperament, 
easily  affected  and  excessively  sensitive  to  all  that  affects  it,  are 
two  things  which  seem  unlikely  to  meet  in  the  same  character  ; 
yet,  contrary  though  they  be,  they  form  the  basis  of  mine." 
.  .  .  "My  soul,  alienated  from  itself,  belongs  wholly  to  my 
body ;  the  disordered  condition  of  my  poor  machine  holds 
it  every  day  more  captive,  until  the  time  when  the  two 
shall  part  company  altogether."  .  .  .  "My  woes  are  the  work 
of  Nature ;  my  happiness  is  my  own  work.  Say  what  you 
will,  I  have  been  well-behaved,  because  I  have  been  as  happy 
as  my  nature  allowed  me  to  be.  I  have  not  looked  for  my 
happiness  in  the  far  distance,  but  in  myself ;  and  there  I  have 
found  it."  .  .  .  "When  my  sufferings  make  me  sadly  meas- 
ure the  length  of  the  nights,  what  period  of  my  life  do  you 
suppose  I  recall  most  frequently  and  with  most  pleasure,  in  my 
dreams?"  ...  "It  is  the  period  of  my  retreat,  my  solitary 
walks,  the  swift  but  delicious  days  I  have  passed  all  by  my- 
self, with  my  good,  simple  housekeeper,  my  beloved  dog,  my 
old  cat,  the  birds  of  the  field  and  the  deer  of  the  forest,  the 
whole  of  nature  and  its  inconceivable  author.  When,  rising 
with  the  sun,  in  order  to  see  him  rise  ...  I  saw  the  approach 
of  a  fine  day,  my  first  wish  was  that  neither  letters  nor  visits 
would  come  to  spoil  its  charm.  After  giving  up  the  forenoon 
to  different  chores,  all  of  which  I  did  with  pleasure,  because  I 


76  ROUSSEAU 

might  have  put  them  off  till  another  time,  I  hastened  to  dine,  in 
order  to  escape  intruders,  and  secure  a  longer  afternoon.  By 
one  o'clock,  even  in  the  hottest  days,  I  set  out."  ..."  When 
once  I  had  turned  a  certain  corner,  with  what  palpitation  of 
heart,  with  what  flashes  of  joy,  I  began  to  breathe,  feeling  my- 
self safe,  and  saying  :  '  Here  I  am,  my  own  master  for  the  rest 
of  the  day  ! '  Then  I  went  along  more  quietly  to  find  some 
wilderness,  where  nothing  showing  the  hand  of  man  bore  wit- 
ness to  servitude  or  mastership,  some  retreat  into  which  I  could 
suppose  I  had  been  the  first  to  penetrate,  and  where  no  third 
intruder  could  come  between  Nature  and  me.  It  was  there  that 
she  seemed  to  display  an  ever  new  splendor  before  me."  .  .  . 
"My  imagination  did  not  long  leave  unpeopled  the  land  thus 
adorned.  I  soon  peopled  it  with  beings  according  to  my  own 
heart,  and,  driving  far  away  opinion,  prejudice,  and  all  facti- 
tious passions,  I  brought  into  the  retreats  of  Nature  men  worthy 
to  inhabit  them.  I  formed  them  into  a  delightful  society,  of 
which  I  did  not  feel  myself  unworthy  to  be  a  member  ;  I  made 
a  Golden  Age,  to  please  myself  ;  and,  filling  these  beautiful  days 
with  all  those  scenes  in  my  life  which  had  left  behind  pleasant 
recollections,  and  with  all  those  which  my  heart  could  still  desire, 
I  melted  into  tears  over  the  true  pleasures  of  humanity,  pleas- 
ures which  are  so  delicious  and  so  pure,  and  henceforth  so  far 
from  men  !  Oh,  if  in  these  moments  my  dreams  were  broken 
by  any  idea  of  Paris,  of  my  time,  of  my  little  literary  aureole, 
with  what  disdain  did  I  at  once  send  it  flying,  in  order  to  give 
myself  up,  without  distraction,  to  the  exquisite  feelings  which 
filled  my  soul !  Nevertheless,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  I  confess, 
the  unreality  of  my  chimeras  sometimes  suddenly  saddened  me. 
If  my  dreams  had  all  turned  into  realities,  they  would  not  have 
satisfied  me.  I  should  still  have  imagined,  dreamed,  desired. 
I  found  in  myself  an  inexplicable  void,  which  nothing  could  fill, 
a  certain  rising  of  the  heart  toward  another  sort  of  enjoyment, 
of  which  I  had  no  idea,  but  yet  of  which  I  felt  the  need."  .  .  . 
"  I  will  not  hide  from  you  that,  notwithstanding  my  conscious- 
ness of  my  vices,  I  hold  myself  in  high  esteem. ' ' 

•  Such  was  the  man  who  undertook  to  be  the  educator 
of  his  kind! 


CHAPTER  IV 

ROUSSEAU'S  SOCIAL  THEORIES 

The  State  is  prior  to  the  individual. 

Aristotle,  Politics. 

All  men  are  equally  by  nature  free. 

HoBBES,  Leviathan,  Cap.  XXI. 

All  public  regimen,  of  what  kind  soever,  seemeth  evidently 
to  have  risen  from  the  deliberate  advice,  consultation,  and  com- 
position between  men,  judging  it  convenient  and  behoveful, 
there  being  no  impossibility  in  Nature,  considered  by  itself,  but 
that  man  might  have  lived  without  any  public  regimen. 

Hooker,  Ecclesiastical  Polity,  Bk.  I.,  §  10. 

Love  thou  thy  land,  with  love  far-brought 
From  out  the  storied  Past,  and  xised 
Within  the  Present,  but  transfused 
Through  future  time  by  power  of  thought. 
****** 
But  pamper  not  a  hasty  time, 
Nor  feed  with  crude  imaginings 
The  herd,  wild  hearts  and  feeble  wings 

That  every  sophister  can  lime. 

Tennyson. 

Rousseau,  in  his  second  letter  to  M.  de  Males- 
herbes,  tells  us  that  his  discourse  on  the  Sciences  and 
Arts,  that  on  the  Origin  of  Inequality  among  Men, 
and  Emile,  are  "three  inseparable  works,  which 
together  form  a  single  whole."  He  ought  to  have 
added,  as  a  fourth,  the  Social  Contract;  but  it  was 
not  then  published,  though  written,  and  he  had  his 

77 


78  ROUSSEAU 

reasons  for  not  speaking  of  it.  Since  it  is  thus  im- 
possible to  understand  his  educational  theory,  as  laid 
down  in  Emile,  without  having  first  grasped  his  social 
and  political  doctrines,  as  expounded  in  the  other 
three,  we  must  now  consider  these  works. 

We  have  already,  in  Chapter  I.,  briefly  traced  the 
.course  of  the  reaction  against  the  theocentric,  authori- 
tative teachings  and  institutions  of  the  Middle  Age, 
in  favor  of  that  anthropocentric,  autonomous  indi- 
vidualism which  is  the  distinguishing  characteristic 
of  recent  times,  and  have  seen  how  the  source  of 
political  authority  was  gradually  transferred  from 
the  inscrutable  will  of  God,  supernaturally  revealed, 
and  embodied  in  kings  and  princes,  to  the  manifold 
minds  and  wills  of  men.  We  have  further  seen  that, 
when  the  question  came  to  be  asked :  How  did  these 
minds  and  wills,  being  manifold  and  discordant,  pro- 
duce an  authority  which  they  are  all  bound  to  acknow- 
ledge? the  answer  was,  Through  a  Social  Contract,  by 
which  men  voluntarily  agreed  to  defend  the  rights 
which  had  previously  belonged  to  them  in  the  state 
of  Nature.  Finally,  we  have  seen  that,  while  at  first 
this  contract  was  believed  to  be  irrevocable,  and  the 
sovereign,  once  chosen,  to  be,  through  succession, 
perpetual  and  absolute,  this  belief  gradually  gave 
place  to  another,  according  to  whicli  the  contract  with 
the  sovereign  ^  might  at  any  time  be  annulled  or  altered 

1  We  must  always  distinguish  between  the  Social  Contract  proper, 
which  is  an  agreement  among  men  to  submit  to  a  sovereign  (com- 
posed of  one  person  or  many) ,  from  the  contract  with  the  sovereign 
elected.  The  latter  is  the  institution  of  government ;  the  former  is 
the  creation  of  a  state  or  commonwealth.  Rousseau,  unlike  Locke, 
is  clear  enough  on  this  point. 


ROUSSEAU'S  SOCIAL  THEORIES  79 

by  the  will  of  the  people,  and  the  sovereign  deposed. 
Thus  the  conviction  gradually  grew  up  that  men,  in-, 
stead  of  being  the  creatures  and  slaves  of  institutions,! 
are  their  creators  and  masters;  that  institutions  exist' 
for  men,  and  not  men  for  institutions,  which  should, 
accordingly,  be  modified  to  suit  them.  Thus,  man 
and  his  desires  became  the  ultimate  end  to  which 
institutions,  like  all  other  things,  are  but  means.  It 
required  but  one  unguarded  step  to  pass  from  this  to^' 
the  notion  that  institutions  are  mere  arrangements 
for  enabling  each  individual  man  to  give  free  play  to 
his  natural  impulses  —  his  animal  spontaneity  —  with- 
out fear  of  being  interrupted  or  disturbed.^  Rousseau 
took  this  step,  and  upon  the  notion  so  reached  built 
up  his  political,  social,  and  educational  theories. 
They  are  all  attempts  to  answer  the  question :  How 
is  it  possible,  through  social  institutions,  which,  under 
certain  circumstances,  become  a  painful  necessity,  for 
man's  natural  spontaneity,  wherein  consists  his  hap- 
piness, to  find  unthwarted  expression?  This,  indeed, 
is  the  question  which  Rousseau  supposed  he  was 
answering;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  went  a  step 
further,  and  asked,  instead :  How  would  social  insti- 
tutions have  to  be  arranged  in  order  that  my  spon- 
taneity might  have  free  expression?  Now,  as  we 
have  seen  (Chapters  II.,  III.),  Rousseau's  spontaneity 
was  both  excessive  and  peculiar.  He  was  almost  the 
last  man  to  be  adopted  as  the  type  of  men  in  general, 
and  this  he  knew  very  well.^     He  belonged,  indeed, 

1  This  was  exactly  the  Sophists'  position,  which  Socrates  trium* 
phantly  refuted.    See  my  Aristotle,  pp.  100  sqq. 

2  See  the  opening  sentences  of  the  Confessions. 


80  ROUSSEAU 

to  the  very  numerous  class  of  self-centred,  unenter- 
prising dalliers;  but  he  was  an  extreme  and,  there- 
fore, a  rare  specimen  of  it.  Being,  according  to  his 
own  admission,  at  once  ardently  sensuous  and  hope- 
lessly indolent,  he  craved  those  kinds  of  half -animal 
enjoyment  that  could  be  attained  with  the  small- 
est amount  of  reflection,  will,  and  physical  energy. 
Hence,  his  ideal  was  a  quiet,  simple,  easy-going  life, 
with  no  duties  and  no  aims,  with  plenty  of  time  for 
dallying,  dreaming,  and  love-making,  and  with  the 
hope  of  a  divinely  provided  future  eternity  of  the 
same  sort.  He  desired  above  all  things  to  feel,  and 
to  avoid  the  trouble  of  thinking  or  acting.^  With  the 
story  of  Eden  and  the  theories  of  Hobbes  and  Locke 
in  his  mind,  he  was  fain  to  believe  that  this  was  man's 
natural  condition  j  but,  instead  of  holding  with  these 
that  men  had  risen,  by  combining  into  societies  through 
a  rational  contract,  he  maintained  that  they  had  fallen, 
and  that  thought  and  knowledge  were  evidences  of 
depravity.  To  prove  this,  and  to  recommend  a  return 
to  Nature  and  savagery,  was  the  aim  of  his  two  dis- 
courses; while,  in  the  Social  Contract^  he  tried  to 
rescue  as  much  of  "  Nature  "  as  he  could,  in  the  midst 
of  Culture.  Still  deep  in  mediaeval  notions,  he  had  no 
conception  of  evolution  through  struggle,  or  of  the 
only  blessedness  worthy  of  man,  —  the  consciousness 
of  continual  moral  victory  in  such  struggle. 

1  He  never  did  either  except  under  the  influence  of  passion. 
Hume  said  of  him,  "He  has  only  felt  during  the  whole  course  of 
his  life,  and  in  this  respect  his  sensibility  rises  to  a  pitch,  beyond 
what  I  have  seen  any  example  of ;  but  it  still  gives  him  a  more 
acute  feeling  of  pain  than  of  pleasure."  Quoted  in  Motley's 
Bousseau,  Vol.  II.,  p.  299. 


ROUSSEAU'S   SOCIAL  THEORIES  81 

Bearing  these  facts  in  mind,  we  have  no  difficulty 
in  realizing  the  perturbation  caused  in  Kousseau's 
unstable  nature  by  the  Dijon  Academy's  question, 
which  called  forth  his  first  discourse.  He  believed, 
with  all  his  heart,  ^  that  not  only  art  and  science,  but 
everything  that  presupposes  discipline  and  continuous 
thought  or  labor,  was  prejudicial  to  morals,  that  is, 
to  the  sort  of  life  he  coveted;  and  he  undertook  to 
show  this  by  an  appeal  to  present  experience  and  past 
history.  Having,  in  his  contact  with  men,  learnt 
what  all  of  us  learn,  —  that  the  external  polish  of 
manners  and  the  elegant  accomplishments  which  earn 
for  a  man  the  character  of  gentleman,  and  make  him 
a  social  favorite,  are  not  only  compatible,  but  fre- 
quently coexist,  with  inner  meanness,  heartlessness, 
vulgarity,  and  treachery,  whereas  rusticity  of  manners 
and  slowness  of  intellect  often  conceal  an  inner  core 
of  sterling  gentlemanliness  and  worth,  —  he  jumps  to 
the  conclusion  that  polish  and  culture,  by  furnishing 
a  uniform  style  of  mask  for  the  virtuous  and  the 
vicious  alike,  make  all  human  intercourse  a  mere 
masquerade,  destroy  simplicity,  and  so  corrupt  so- 
ciety. This  conclusion  he  finds  confirmed  by  a  sur- 
vey of  the  ancient  nations,  which  he  affirms,  with  a 
fair  show  of  truth,  to  have  been  virtuous,  strong,  and 
progressive  as  long  as  they  were  ignorant  of  the  sci- 
ences and  arts,  and  to  have  declined  from  the  moment 
when  these  were  introduced.  Though  admitting  that 
great  thinkers  and  artists  may  be  useful,  if  they  are 

1  One  thing  about  Rousseau  can  never  be  doubted,  —  and  it  is 
a  great  thing,  and  due  to  his  spontaneity,  —  his  complete  emotional 
sincerity.    His  desires  were  very  real  to  him. 

Q 


iy 


y 


82  ROUSSEAU 

also  great  and  virtuous  citizens,  like  Cicero  and  Bacon, 
he  has  only  scorn  for  the  ordinary  run  of  philosophers, 
scientists,  and  literary  panderers  to  popular  taste, 
bewailing,  as  an  almost  unmixed  evil,  the  invention 
of  printing,  which  makes  it  possible  to  perpetuate  their 
productions.  Expressed  briefly,  his  argument  is,  that 
scientific  and  artistic  culture  is  incompatible  with  vir- 
tue. He  concludes  that  such  culture  should  be  eschewed, 
and  men  return  to  the  simplicity  of  primitive  life  and 
blissful  ignorance,  unprovocative  of  ambition.\ 

Paradoxical  and  untenable  as  Kousseau's  general 
position  is,  it  contains  a  large  amount  of  truth,  which 
won  it  adherents  in  an  age  of  universal  unreality, 
hypocrisy,  and  corruption,  masked  by  politeness.  It 
is  true  that  polish  without  virtue,  gentlemanly  bearing 
without  generosity  and  sympathy,  erudition  without 
insight,  brilliancy  without  earnestness,  and  charity 
without  self-sacrifice,  are  evil  and  not  good.  It  is 
true  that  mere  occupation  with  science  for  science' 
sake,  without  any  sense  of  its  relation  to  moral  life, 
and  with  art  for  the  sake  of  the  passive  pleasure  it 
yields,  is  a  sure  sign  of  moral  decadence  and  national 
enfeeblement.  It  is  true  that  that  culture  alone  is  good 
which  leads  to  lofty  simplicity  and  robust  virtue.  It 
was  no  small  merit  on  the  part  of  Rousseau  to  have 
given  these  truths  energetic  expression;  but,  when  he 
confounded  true  culture  of  mind,  affection,  and  will 
with  mere  superficial  polish,  and  refined  simplicity 
with  ignorant  savagery  or  rusticity,  he  was  misleading 
the  world  and  defeating  his  own  ends,  by  a  display 
of  that  hollow  and  pernicious  rhetoric  which  he  so 
heartily  despised  and  stigmatized. 


ROUSSEAU'S  SOCIAL  THEORIES  83 

Rousseau's  first  discourse  was  attacked  from  many 
quarters;  but  this  by  no  means  daunted  him.  His 
passions  being  concerned,  he  not  only  replied  to  all 
objectors,  but  returned  to  the  charge  with  fresh  am- 
munition in  his  second  discourse,  in  which  he  sought 
to  answer  the  question:  What  is  the  Origin  of  Ine- 
quality among  Men,  and  is  it  authorized  by  the  Natural 
Laivf  In  this,  true  to  his  love  of  feeling  and  his 
hatred  of  thinking,  and  mindful  of  his  lonely,  sensu- 
ous reveries  in  the  forest  of  Montmorency,  he  assures 
us  that  "  the  state  of  reflection  is  a  state  contrary  to 
Nature,  and  the  man  who  thinks  is  a  depraved  ani- 
mal." He  draws  a  picture  of  man  in  his  purely  animal 
state,  when  he  "wandered  in  the  forests,  without  in- 
dustry, without  speech,  without  home,  without  war  or 
tie,  with  no  need  of  his  fellows  and  no  desire  to  hurt 
them,  perhaps  even  not  knowing  any  one  of  them  in- 
dividually." Being  endowed  with  the  sentiment  of 
pity,  he  was  naturally  kind  and  good,  inclined  rather 
to  help  than  to  hurt  his  fellows  when  they  came  in 
his  way;  and,  as  there  was  as  yet  no  inequality,  he 
had  no  ground  for  hatred,  envy,  pride,  or  any  of  the 
numerous  vices  that  follow  in  their  train.  Following 
Nature,  he  was  free,  strong,  and  happy. 

Rousseau  next  proceeds  to  show  how,  as  men,  mul- 
tiplying, found  more  and  more  difficulty  in  obtaining 
food,  they  invented  traps  and  similar  devices,  and  so 
began  to  have  private  property,  and  how,  finally, 
learning  that  they  could  accomplish  their  ends  better 
by  combining,  they  entered  first  into  momentary,  and 
then  into  permanent,  relations  with  each  other.  With 
the  rise  of  the  latter,  they  began  to  settle  together,  to 


84  ROUSSEAU 

build  themselves  huts,  and  to  have  their  families 
about  them.  Division  of  labor  began,  and  with  it  a 
certain  loss  of  robust,  savage  courage.  Civilization 
was  beginning,  and  with  it  corruption.  Still,  as 
there  was  yet  no  marked  inequality,  there  was  almost 
no  vice,  and,  indeed,  this  was  perhaps  the  happiest 
of  all  human  conditions.  The  great  evil  of  inequality 
began  when  what  had  previously  been  common  to  all, 
was  claimed  as  private  property.  "The  first  man 
who,  having  enclosed  a  piece  of  land,  took  upon  him 
to  say,  'This  is  mine,'  and  found  people  simple 
enough  to  believe  him,  was  the  true  founder  of  civil 
society.  How  many  crimes,  wars,  murders,  miseries, 
horrors,  would  have  been  spared  the  human  race  by 
him  who,  tearing  up  the  stakes,  or  filling  up  the  ditch, 
should  have  called  out  to  his  fellows:  'Beware  of 
listening  to  this  impostor !  You  are  lost,  if  you  for- 
get that  the  fruit  belongs  to  all,  the  earth  to  none ! '  " 
From  this  point  on,  it  is  easy  to  follow  the  develop- 
ment of  civil  society,  involving,  as  it  does,  the  decay 
of  freedom,  virtue,  and  happiness,  and  the  growth  of 
slavery,  vice,  and  misery.  "  If  we  follow  the  progress 
of  inequality,"  he  says,  " .  .  .we  shall  find  that  the  es- 
tablishment of  law  and  of  the  right  of  private  praperty 
was  its  first  term;  the  institution  of  magistracy,  its 
second;  and  the  third  and  last,  the  transition  from 
legitimate  to  arbitrary  power;  so  that  the  condition 
of  rich  and  poor  was  authorized  by  the  first  epoch; 
that  of  strong  and  weak,  by  the  second;  and  by  the 
third,  that  of  master  and  slave,  which  is  the  last 
degree  of  inequality,  and  the  one  to  which  all  the 
others  finally  come."     And  Rousseau  draws  a  picture 


ROUSSEAU'S   SOCIAL   THEORIES  85 

of  civilized  society,  which  contrasts  luridly  enough 
with  his  previous  picture  of  the  life  of  the  *' noble 
savage."  The  conclusion  is,  that  all  inequality  among 
men  is  due  to  private  property,  and  all  vice,  misery, 
and  slavery  to  inequality.  The  moral,  of  course,  is, 
Return  to  savage  life  —  to  the  state  of  Nature. ') 

No  better  commentary  can  be  made  on  this  book 
than  the  one  which  Voltaire  made,  in  the  letter  in 
which  he  thanked  the  author  for  a  copy  of  it.  "  I 
have  received,"  he  says,  "your  new  book  against  the 
human  race,  and  return  you  my  thanks.  Never  was 
such  ability  put  forth  in  the  endeavor  to  make  us  all 
stupid.  On  reading  your  book,  one  longs  to  walk  on 
all  fours."  The  work,  regarded  as  a  whole,  is  indeed 
the  height  of  absurdity;  and  yet  it  contains  a  large 
amount  of  solid  truth,  and  i)roduced,  in  the  practical 
world,  effects  which  determined,  and  are  still  deter- 
mining, the  fate  of  nations.  What  the  author  says 
^in  regard  to  the  origin  of  language  and  of  ideas  is 
better  than  anything  that  had  been  said  before  him. 
His  views  on  the  relations  of  property  to  social  life 
and  ethics  are  more  and  more  coming  to  be  recognized 
as  true.  His  notions  of  the  relation  of  thought  to 
reality,  if  they  had  been  worked  out  into  a  system, 
would  have  given  us  a  saner  and  truer  philosophy 
than  any  that  has  ever  appeared.^      And  the  book 

1  Take,  for  example,  the  following:  "The  human  understanding 
owes  much  to  the  passions,  which,  by  common  consent,  like^^ise 
owe  much  to  it.  It  is  through  their  activity  that  our  reason  per- 
fects itself ;  we  seek  to  know  only  because  we  desire  to  enjoy  :  and 
it  is  impossible  to  conceive  how  a  being  having  neither  desires  nor 
fears  should  take  the  trouble  to  reason.  The  passions,  on  the  other 
hand,  originate  in  our  needs,  and  their  progress  in  our  knowledge." 


86  ROUSSEAU 

contains  not  only  the  tinder  that  kindled  the  French 
Revolution,  and  the  germ  that  burst  into  the  Ameri- 
can Declaration  of  Independence,  but  also  the  forces  of 
all  those  deeper  and  more  pervasive  movements  that 
are  "toiling  in  the  gloom,"  under  the  surface  of  our 
present  social  order,  —  socialism,  anarchism,  nihilism, 
and  the  like.  Lastly,  there  is  in  the  book  an  impor- 
tant pedagogical  truth,  which  may  be  summed  up  in 
the  Greek  aphorism:  Education  is  learning  to  love 
and  hate  correctly.  > 

The  second  discourse  was  written  in  1753;  nine 
years  later  appeared  the  Social  Contract^  meant  to  be 
merely  a  portion  of  a  larger  work  on  Political  Institu- 
tions. E-ousseau  having,  meanwhile,  come  to  recog- 
nize that  a  return  to  the  state  of  Nature  is  impossible, 
that  civil  society  and  culture  have  come  to  stay,  now 
proposed  to  himself  this  problem :  To  find  a  form  of 
association  which  shall  defend,  with  all  the  common  force, 
the  person  and  property  of  each  associate,  and  through 
which  each,  uniting  loith  all,  shall,  nevertheless,  obey 
only  himself,  and  remain  as  free  as  before.  In  other 
words,  he  wished  to  discover  how  the  freedom  lost 

Had  these  thoughts  been  heeded,  Kant  would  have  been  saved  from 
his  dualism  between  the  matter  and  form  of  thought ;  and  the  world 
would  have  been  spared  the  whole  laborious  and  futile  attempt  of 
idealism  to  build  up  a  real  world  out  of  the  forms  or  categories  of 
thought.  We  shall  never  get  a  philosophy  worthy  of  the  name, 
until,  with  Rousseau,  we  see  that  all  reality  is  feeling,  and  that 
thought  is  merely  the  articulation  of  feeling.  Feeling,  in  the  form 
of  desire,  is  the  ideal ;  in  the  form  of  satisfaction,  the  actual.  The 
history  of  the  categories  of  thought  is  the  history  of  all  evolution ; 
not  because  the  categories  unfold  themselves,  but  because  desire, 
in  its  effort  toward  ever  fuller  and  more  varied  satisfaction,  dif- 
ferentiates itself  into  them. 


ROUSSEAU'S  SOCIAL  THEORIES  87 

with  the  state  of  Nature  might  be  recovered  in  the 
state  of  Culture.  His  answer  was,  By  means  of  a 
Social  Contract  of  this  form :  "  Each  of  us  places  in  a 
common  stock  his  person  and  all  his  power,  under  the 
supreme  direction  of  the  general  will,  and  we  further 
receive  each  member  as  an  individual  part  of  the 
whole."  In  other  words,  men,  coming  to  recognize 
that  "  they  had  reached  a  point  where  the  obstacles 
to  their  preservation  in  a  state  of  Nature  were  too 
much  for  the  forces  which  each  individual  could  put 
forth  to  maintain  himself  in  that  state,"  and  that, 
therefore,  they  must  perish  if  they  tried  to  continue 
in  it,  resolved  to  unite  their  forces  in  order  to  over- 
come these  obstacles.  In  this  way,  they  gave  up 
their  individual  freedom  and  accepted,  in  exchange, 
social  freedom;  that  is,  such  freedom  as  is  possible 
when  each  individual  submits  himself  to  rules  reached 
through  a  compromise  between  the  wills  of  all. 
Whereas,  previously,  each  individual  was  a  sovereign 
in  his  own  right,  now  the  only  sovereign  is  the  whole 
of  society,  of  which  each  individual  is  a  member. 
Or,  to  put  it  otherwise,  men,  to  escape  complete  bond- 
age to  Nature,  accepted  partial  bondage  to  society,  in 
which  each  will  is  free  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  part  of 
the  general  will,  influencing  all  and  being  influenced 
by  all.  This  will,  in  any  particular  case,  is  found  in 
the  vote  of  the  majority.  Of  course,  this  social  free- 
dom, according  to  Kousseau,  is  not  an  equivalent  for 
natural  freedom,  which  should  be  preserved  wherever 
it  is  possible;  but  it  is  the  next  best  thing.  Only, 
care  must  be  taken  that  it  does  not,  as  at  present, 
degenerate  into  tyranny  on  the  one  hand  and  slavery 


88  EOUSSEAU 

on  the  other.  ^  Though  the  authority  of  the  sovereign 
is  absolute,  inalienable,  indivisible,  and  the  source  of 
all  laws,  yet,  since  the  execution  of  laws  must  be 
entrusted  by  law  to  a  part  of  the  sovereign,  there  is 
always  danger  that  this  part,  though  possessing  no 
independent  authority,  will  either  use  the  laws  for 
its  own  benefit  or  act  contrary  to  the  laws,  and  thus 
enslave  the  other  part.  When  this  happens,  the 
Social  Contract  is  broken,  and  the  parties  to  it  return 
to  a  state  of  Nature,  free  from  all  authority,  but  free, 
at  the  same  time,  to  make  a  fresh  contract.  Here  we 
have  at  once  the  conditions  and  the  justification  of 
revolution. 

Such,  in  very  brief  form,  is  the  main  gist  of  the 
Social  Contract,  which  has  played  such  a  dissolvent 
part  in  the  history  of  the  last  hundred  years.  It  is, 
from  our  present  point  of  view,  easy  to  criticise  it, 
but  it  is  also  easy  to  misunderstand  its  main  thesis.) 
It  may  be,  and  is,  true  that  Kousseau  conceives  all 
social  order  to  rest  upon  an  original  compact,  made 
in  the  distant  past ;  but  this  is  as  good  as  irrelevant 
to  iiis  purpose.  His  book  is  meant  to  solve  a  prob- 
lem, not  to  reason  from  a  fact.  His  contention  is, 
that  all  the  relations  of  the  individual  to  society 
ought,  at  every  moment,  to  be  such  as  would  result 
from  a  free  contract  entered  into  by  persons  all  enjoy- 
ing the  same  natural  rights,  all  free  and  all  equal,  on 
the  understanding  that  all  these  rights  should  be 
maintained,  and  that  all  the  contractants  should  re- 

i"Man  is  born  free,  and  is  everywhere  in  chains."  These 
are  the  opening  words  of  the  first  chapter  of  the  Social  Con- 
tract. 


ROUSSEAU'S  SOCIAL  THEORIES  80 

main  free  and  equal  under  the  contract.     Is  this  true? 
that  is  the  question.     It  is  not. 

Starting  from  false  premises,  Rousseau  naturally 
arrived  at  false  conclusions.  His  "  state  of  Nature  " 
is  a  pure  fiction  of  the  imagination.  Man,  in  such  a 
state,  would  not  be  man  at  all;  for  all  that  makes  him 
man  is  evolved  through  association.  He  is  not  born 
free ;  for  freedom  and  slavery  are  terms  that  have  no 
meaning  except  in  a  social  order.  Animal  caprice  is 
not  freedom.  Man  does  not  lose,  but  gain,  freedom 
by  association,  and  the  more  extensive  the  associa- 
tion the  greater  the  freedom.  The  phrase  "natural 
rights,"  which  has  played  so  mischievous  a  part  in 
thought  and  practice  since  Rousseau's  day,  is  actually 
self-contradictory,  or,  as  logicians  say,  contains  a 
contradictio  in  adjecto.  Where  there  is  no  social 
order,  there  are  no  rights  at  all;  in  so  far,  all  beings 
are  equal.  Rights  imply  duties,  and  both  imply 
mutuality,  which  involves  association.  Society  is 
not  due  to  an  agreement  whereby  men  pool  rights 
previously  and  independently  possessed;  it  is  a  com- 
bination whereby  rights  are  created.  If  we  insist 
upon  giving  a  meaning  to  the  phrase  "natural  rights," 
it  must  be  those  rights  which  a  man,  born  into  a 
society  already  constituted,  may  fairly  claim,  on  the 
ground  that  certain  duties  are  demanded  of  him,  even 
though  he  has  had  no  voice  in  the  organization  of 
that  society.  At  the  present  day,  when  all  men  are 
held  to  be  born  into  human  society,^  and  therefore  to 
have  certain  duties,  all  are  held  to  have  such  natural 

1  Aristotle  was  far  wiser  than  Rousseau,  when  he  said,  "  Man  is 
by  nature  a  political  animal." 


90  ROUSSEAU 

rights.     But  this  view  is  of  very  recent  origin,  even 
in  the  most  civilized  countries. 

Again,  " general  will "  is  a  nonsensical  phrase;  for 
•will  is  always  individual,  and,  even  if  we  substitute 
"  aggregate  of  individual  wills, "  this  aggregate  is  not 
found  by  pairing  off,  and  setting  aside,  opposing  wills, 
and  counting  only  those  that  can  find  none  to  pair  off 
with.  One  will  does  not  cancel  another,  however 
much  it  may  be  opposed  to  it.  But  Eousseau's  chief 
error  lay  in  this,  that,  like  Plato,  the  first  and  great- 
est of  Utopians,  he  supposed  that  human  nature  could 
be  suddenly  transformed  by  the  fiat  of  the  legislator, 
and  society  be  made  to  assume  any  arrangement  which 
he,  with  his  geometrical  wisdom  or  landscape-garden- 
ing fancy,  might  choose  to  give  it.  Neither  of  these 
men  based  his  theories  upon  a  careful  study  of  human 
nature  and  progress,  or  inquired  what,  given  humanity 
such  as  it  is,  with  its  ignorance,  caprice,  and  wilful- 
ness, was  possible  for  it  at  any  given  stage  in  its 
career.  Both  of  them  set  out  with  their  own  feelings 
and  preferences,  and,  finding  that  these  were  thwarted 
and  confined  by  the  social  order  about  them,  went  to 
work,  with  their  imaginations,  to  construct  another, 
in  which  these  feelings  and  preferences  should  have 
full  play.  This  is  the  fatal  vice  of  all  Utopians  and 
sentimentalists.  They  make  the  satisfaction  of  their 
own  needs  and  imaginary  desires  the  aim  of  social 
endeavor,  forgetting  the  homely  proverbs,  that  "you 
cannot  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear,"  and 
that  "one  man's  meat  is  another  man's  poison." 
Moreover,  since  all  sentimentalists  belong  to  the 
dalliant  class  (see  p.  24),  they  are  always  trying  to 


ROUSSEAU'S   SOCIAL  THEORIES  91 

make  arrangements  for  dalliance,  that  is,  for  the  ces- 
sation of  struggle  and  energetic  enterprise,  and  for 
the  realization  of  an  earthly  paradise  of  sweet  rest 
and  dreamy  emotions.  They  cannot  be  made  to  see 
that  all  true  life  is  struggle,  and  that,  if  the  struggle 
should  cease,  life  would  cease  to  have  any  value,  and 
become  a  mere  opium-eater's  dream. 

But  it  is  the  very  vice  of  these  subjective  Utopians 
that  wins  fanatical  adherents  for  their  theories;  for 
the  fanatic  is  simply  the  man  who,  by  calling  the 
imagined  satisfaction  of  his  own  desires  the  sacred 
ideal  of  humanity,  can  proclaim  it,  without  fear  or 
shame,  to  the  whole  world,  and,  in  words  fledged  with 
passion  and  tipped  with  sympathetic  poison,  call  upon 
it  to  aid  him  in  giving  it  reality,  not  hesitating,  if 
the  opportunity  occurs,  to  employ,  in  the  process, 
fire,  sword,  gibbet,  or  guillotine.  If  he  is  of  the 
extreme  sort,  he  will  announce  that  he  speaks  with 
the  voice  of  God,  and  command  all  men  to  believe 
in  him  and  follow  his  lead,  on  pain  of  eternal  tort- 
ure. Thus  did  Muhammad,  Joseph  Smith,  and  "the 
Bab  "  of  modern  Persia. 

As  the  virus  of  Rousseau's  social  theories,  of  which 
his  educational  system  confessedly  forms  a  part,  has 
not  yet  ceased  to  poison  the  minds  of  men  and  women 
of  the  dalliant  order,  it  may  be  well  to  bring  out  here 
the  nature  of  this  virus,  and  to  show  its  pernicious 
effects  in  social  life. 

A  rapid  glance  at  the  world,  as  we  know  it,  suffices 
to  show  us  that  it  is  composed  of  clusters  of  feelings, 
distinguished,  grouped,  and  generalized  into  things, 
by  what  we  call  the  categories  of  thought.     Mat- 


92  ROUSSEAU 

ter,^  force,  love,  hate,  self,  are  feelings,  differentiated 
by  time,  space,  relation,  and  the  like.  If,  now,  we 
follow  the  course  of  evolution,  as  revealed  to  us  by 
recent  investigation,  we  shall  see  that  it  is  a  progress 
in  feeling  from  indistinction  to  distinction,  from  un- 
consciousness to  consciousness,  and,  finally,  to  self- 
consciousness,  which  appears  to  be  the  ultimate 
distinctness.  To  this  last,  man  alone,  so  far  as  we 
know,  has  attained,  and  even  he  has  not  attained  to  it 
completely.  He  is  still  "half -akin  to  brute,'"*  still 
swayed  by  impulses  which  he  is  not  able  to  differen- 
tiate, analyze,  or  make  completely  subservient  to  his 
ultimate  end.  His  passions  —  even  his  love  and  pity 
—  are,  to  a  large  extent,  still  blind,  and  he  acts  from 
motives  whose  rationality  he  often  does  not  see.  In 
like  manner,  his  social  relations  are  still  half  instinc- 
tive, being  due,  not  to  conscious  contract,  but  to  use 
and  wont.  He  thus  finds  himself  in  a  certain  status, 
which,  if  one  wishes  to  abuse  language,  may  be  called 
thraldom,  or  even  slavery,  but  which,  in  fact,  is 
merely  the  natural  condition  of  all  beings  that  have 
not,  as  the  result  of  complete  self -consciousness,  at- 
tained perfect  self-determination.  It  is  a  familiar 
saying  that  all  social  advance  is  from  status  to  con- 
tract,^ which  means  from  relations  contracted  through 
instinct,  use,  and  wont,  to  relations  entered  into  with 
a  conscious  purpose.     Since  this  advance  cannot  reach 

1  If  we  abstract  from  matter  what  is  plainly  feeling,  e.g.  shape, 
color,  hardness,  impenetrability,  there  is  nothing  left.  Matter  is 
a  group  of  feelings.  See  Huxley,  Descartes'  Discourse  touching 
the  Method  of  using  one's  Reason,  pp.  373  sq. 

2  Tennyson,  In  Memoriam,  epilogue. 

3  See  Sir  H.  S.  Maine,  Ancient  Law,  pp.  165  sq. 


ROUSSEAU'S  SOCIAL   THEORIES  93 

its  goal  until  men,  grown  completely  self-conscious, 
can  undertake  to  conduct  their  lives  in  view  of  an 
all-embracing,  freely-set  purpose,  it  is  evident  that 
a  social  contract  in  Rousseau's  sense,  a  contract  ex- 
tending to  all  the  relations  of  life,  can  come  only  at 
the  end,  and  by  no  means  at  the  beginning,  of  social 
life.  It  is  the  failure  to  grasp  this  simple  result  of 
historic  induction  that  makes  it  possible  seriously  to 
construct  Utopias  and,  at  the  same  time,  makes  their 
failure  almost  certain.  An  Utopia  is  simply  a  pro- 
posal to  impose  one  man's  notion  of  the  conditions 
that  would  insure  his  happiness  upon  his  fellows,  an 
arrangement  which,  instead  of  securing  their  free- 
dom, would  completely  enthral  them.  Every  Utopian, 
from  Plato  down,  places  himself  in  the  ruling  class. 
Imagine  how  Rousseau  would  feel  as  a  member  of  the 
warrior  class  in  Plato's  Republic,  or  as  an  operative 
in  Mr.  Bellamy's  industrial  commonwealth!  In  all 
history,  we  know  but  of  one  man  who  succeeded  in 
imposing  his  private  ideal  upon  his  race  and,  through 
it,  upon  a  large  portion  of  the  world;  and  that  was 
Muhammad ;  but  we  must  not  forget  that  he  did  so  by 
means  of  supernatural  claims,  and  that  the  results  have 
been  fanaticism  and  slavery.^ 

1  Rousseau  has  some  excellent  remarks  on  the  efforts  of  Peter 
the  Great  to  force  his  ideal  upon  Russia.  "The  Russians,"  he 
says,  "will  never  he  truly  civilized,  because  they  were  so  too 
soon.  Peter  had  an  imitative  genius :  he  had  not  true  genius, 
such  as  creates  and  makes  everything  out  of  nothing.  Some  of 
the  things  he  did  were  good  ;  the  greater  part  were  ill-timed.  He 
saw  that  his  people  was  barbarian ;  he  did  not  see  that  it  was  not 
ripe  for  civilization.  He  tried  to  civilize  it,  when  he  ought  to  have 
inured  it  to  war.  He  wished  at  once  to  make  Grermans  and  Eng- 
lishmen, when  he  ought  to  have  begun  by  making  Russians.    He 


94  ROUSSEAU 

No  good  can  ever  be  done  to  a  people  by  trying  to 
force  it  into  any  mould  prepared  for  it  from  without. 
Even  if  for  a  time  it  submits  to  the  mould,  it  will, 
sooner  or  later,  either  burst  it  or  perish  through 
cramping.  In  a  healthy  state,  peoples  feel  their  way 
forward,  so  to  speak,  spontaneously,  forming  new 
ideals  at  every  step,  and  freely  realizing  them  at  the 
next.  All  that  the  enthusiastic  lover  of  his  kind,  the 
wise  reformer,  can  do,  is  to  hasten  this  process  by 
diffusing  such  knowledge  and  culture  as  shall  give  a 
deeper  and  wider  meaning  to  experience,  and  so  make 
possible  higher  ideals.  Any  attempt  to  force  the 
process,  or  to  substitute  for  its  slowly,  but  freely,  at- 
tained results,  a  rigid,  unprogressive  scheme,  such  as 
Utopias  are  sure  to  be,  can  lead  to  nothing  but  slavery 
and  death.  Equally  fatal  to  liberty  and  well-being 
are  all  attempts  to  induce  a  people  to  alter  its  whole 
social  system  in  favor  of  some  scheme  that  seems  to 
promise  greater  material  prosperity,  greater  ease, 
comfort,  and  dalliance.  This  is  the  mistake  made  by 
the  socialists  and  many  other  well-meaning,  but  ill- 
advised,  reformers  of  the  present  day.  This  was  the 
mistake  made  by  Kousseau,  whose  Social  Contract 
may  be  said  to  be  the  bible  of  both  socialism  and 
anarchism.^  Holding  that  the  bonds  of  civil  society 
were,  or  might  be,  created  by  a  contract,  he  concluded 
that  they  were  dissolved  when  the  terms  of  that  con- 
tract were  violated,  and  that  thereupon  the  contract- 
prevented  his  subjects  from  becoming  what  they  might  have  been, 
by  persuading  them  that  they  were  what  they  were  not.  .  .  .  The 
Russian  empire  will  try  to  subjugate  Europe,  and  will  itself  be 
subjugated." 

1  See  below,  Cap.  XI. 


ROUSSEAU'S   SOCIAL  THEORIES  96 

ants  or  their  representatives  could  revert  to  their 
original  condition  of  savage  individualism,  with  free- 
dom to  slay  each  other  to  their  heart's  content,  and, 
when  tired  of  that,  to  return  —  a  battered  remnant  — 
to  civic  life,  by  making  a  new  contract  to  suit  their 
tastes.  The  premise  of  this  argument  being  false, 
the  conclusion  was  necessarily  so  likewise ;  but  this 
was  not  the  worst.  Rousseau  forgot  three  most  im- 
portant things:  (1)  to  state  the  precise  terms  of  the 
social  contract;  (2)  to  determine  what  would  consti- 
tute a  violation  of  these  terms ;  (3)  to  say  who  should 
have  the  right  of  declaring  authoritatively  when  they 
were  violated.  On  his  principles  it  would  be  entirely 
competent  for  any  body  of  men,  at  any  time,  to  declare 
the  contract  broken,  and  to  revert  to  anarchy.'i 

Thus  the  Social  Contract  is  mistaken  in  theory,  and 
pernicious,  or  impossible,  in  practice.  It  rests  upon 
a  false  conception  of  human  nature  and  its  laws,  and 
places,  as  a  fact,  at  the  beginning  of  social  evolution, 
what  can  only  be  an  ideal  to  be  gradually  approached 
as  an  end.  It  places  the  perfection  of  human  nature 
in  a  condition  of  savage  isolation,  governed  by  pure 
caprice,  and  regards  all  advance  toward  moral  liberty, 
through  social  organization,  as  a  decline  and  a  degen- 
eration. It  makes  liberty  and  equality  conditions 
prior  and  external  to  civilization,  instead  of,  as  they 
are,  the  highest  results  of  the  social  process.  It 
teaches  men  to  regard  social  restraints  and  institutions 
as  something  artificial  and  conventional,  which  it  is 
their  duty  to  cast  aside,  whenever  they  can,  in  favor 
of  savage  freedom,  with  its  animal  immediateness  and 
spontaneity.     If  it  reluctantly  admits  the  necessity 


96  ROUSSEAU 

of  a  social  order,  it  regards  this,  not  as  a  means  of 
moral  training  in  conscious  self-control,  which  is  true 
freedom,  but  as  a  contrivance  for  conserving  animal 
spontaneity  and  caprice. 

From  Rousseau's  views  regarding  the  truly  impor- 
tant in  life  and  the  value  of  social  organization,  we 
can  easily  divine  the  character  of  his  educational 
system.  With  that  we  shall  begin  to  deal  in  the  next 
chapter. 


CHAPTER  V 
ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES 

Infancy 

{^mile,  Bk.  I.) 

To  live  alone,  one  must  be  a  god  or  a  beast. 

Aristotle,  Politics. 

An  illustrious  author  says  that  it  is  only  the  bad  man  that  ia 
alone.     I  say  it  is  only  the  good  man  that  is  alone. 

Rousseau,  ^mile,  Bk.  II. 

The  whole  universe  can  be  only  a  point  for  an  oyster. 

Ibid. 

We  have  seen  that  Rousseau's  social  and  political 
theories  had  their  origin  in  two  things :  (1)  a  group  of 
notions,  of  naturalistic  and  individualistic  tendency, 
current  in  his  day;  (2)  his  own  sensuous,  indolent, 
dalliant  nature,  which  continually  craved  a  life  of  bo- 
vine satisfaction,  unencumbered  by  thought,  or  sense 
of  duty.  Seizing  upon  the  distinction  between  natural 
and  civic  life,  and  temperamentally  hating  the  latter, 
he  proceeded,  in  direct  opposition  to  Hobbes  and 
Locke,  to  decry  it,  as  slavish  and  depraved,  and  to 
glorify  the  former,  as  alone  free  and  healthy.  In  a 
word,  he  set  up  his  own  dreams  of  dalliance  as  the 
ideal  of  human  life.  Such  a  course  will  always  be 
open  and  tempting  to  men  of  his  impatient,  undisci- 
plined character,  so  long  as  we  persist  in  drawing  a 
hard  and  fast  distinction  between  the  life  of  Nature 
H  97 


98  ROUSSEAU 

and  the  life  of  Culture,  and,  failing  to  see  that  they 
are  simply  two  commergent  stages  in  one  process, 
attribute  them  to  different  principles.  It  is  always 
perilous  to  introduce  any  sort  of  dualism  into  exist- 
ence, or  to  seek  for  the  explanation  of  the  lower  forms 
of  it  elsewhere  than  in  the  laws  manifested  in  the 
higher.  If  we  cannot  show  that  ethical  life  is  natural, 
we  can,  at  least,  show  that  natural  life  is  rudimen- 
tarily  ethical.  Thus  viewed,  the  lower  manifestation 
will  hardly  be  preferred  to  the  higher.  No  errors  are 
so  fatally  mischievous  as  metaphysical  errors.  To 
one  such  error  were  due  most  of  the  horrors  of  the 
French  Revolution. 

For  a  century  preceding  Rousseau's  time,  educa- 
tional theories  had  been  rife  in  a  world  awakening 
from  the  lurid,  Dantesque  dreams  of  the  Middle  Age. 
The  old  belief,  that  man's  nature  is  fallen  and  de- 
praved, had  gradually  been  replaced  by  a  belief  that  it 
is  fundamentally  sound  and  good;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  education  had  come  to  be  regarded,  not  as  a 
means  of  eradicating  vile  human  nature,  and  replacing 
it  by  a  new  divine  nature,  but  as  a  means  of  develop- 
ing human  nature  itself.  In  England,  Locke  had 
written  a  plain,  common-sense  treatise  on  education  ^ 
from  the  latter  point  of  view,  and  from  this  Rousseau 
drew  his  chief  inspiration.  About  1760  the  Jesuits, 
who  had  done  so  much  to  promote  education  of  the 
repressive  and  eradicative  sort,  were  losing  their 
hold,^  and  thus  an  opportunity  was  offered  for  educa- 
tional theories  and  practices  of  the  opposite  kind. 

1  Some  Thoughts  concerning  Education  (1688) 

2  They  were  expelled  from  France  in  1764. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES  90 

Of  this  Rousseau,  among  others,  took  advantage,  and, 
in  1762,  produced  ^mile,  which  assumes  that  all  edu- 
cation ought  to  be  the  development  of  Nature. 

Rousseau's  educational  system  was  meant  to  be  a 
preparation  for  that  sort  of  life  which  his  own  nature 
pictured  to  him  as  the  highest  —  a  quiet,  uneventful, 
unreflective,  half -animal,  half-childish  "  natural "  life, 
free  from  serious  tasks,  aims,  or  duties,  —  the  life  of 
a  savage,  conceived  as  sensitive  and  capricious,  but 
kind  and  lazy.^  Had  he  been  logical,  he  would  have 
simply  advised  parents  to  send  their  children  at  birth, 
for  nurture  and  education,  to  a  tribe  of  savages  or 
nomads,  as  the  Meccans  are  said  to  have  done  in  the 
time  of  Muhammad.  But,  logicality  not  being  one  of_^ 
his  virtues,  he  propounded  this  problem :  How  can  a  \ 
child,  born  in  civil  society,  be  so  reared  as  to  remain 
unaffected  and  uncorrupted  by  tjie  vices  inseparable  I 
from  civilization?  His  solution  is  Emile.  In  this 
work,  education  is  conceived  as  a  negative,  protective 
process,  warding  off  external  evil,  that  the  good  native 
to  the  child  ^  may  be  free  to  unfold  itself,  in  all  its 

1  Savage  life,  as  conceived  by  Rousseau,  is  mainly  the  product 
of  his  own  imagination.    His  ideal  savage  is  simply  himself, 

2  Wordsworth  was  under  the  sentimental  glamor  of  Rousseau's 
influence,  when  he  wrote,  in  his  Ode  to  Immortality,  the  incautious, 
flattering  lines :  — 

"  Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness  ; 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God,  who  is  our  home." 

And  «o  was  Lowell,  when  he  wrote :  — 

"All  that  hath  been  majestical 
In  life  or  death,  since  time  began, 

Is  native  in  the  simple  heart  of  all, 
The  angel  heart  of  man." 

An  Incident  in  a  Eailroad  Car, 


/ 


100  ROUSSEAU 

spontaneity.  It  will  be  the  proper  time  to  consider 
the  justice  of  this  conception  after  we  have  examined 
the  work  in  detail. 

Rousseau  flaunts  his  colors  from  the  outset.  The 
opening  words  of  the  first  book  of  JlSmile  are :  "  Every- 
thing is  well,  as  it  comes  from  the  hands  of  the 
Author  of  things;  everything  degenerates  in  the 
hands  of  man."  Here  a  strong  line  is  drawn  between 
Nature,  as  the  work  of  God,  and  Art,  or  Culture,  as 
the  work  of  man,  and  the  latter,  instead  of  being  con- 
ceived, as  Shakespeare  and  Hobbes  conceived  it,  as 
the  continuation  and  crown  of  the  former,  is  regarded 

^s  something  meanly  opposing  and   thwarting  J^t.*,. 

|Man  distorts  and  disfigures  everything,  and,  indeed, 
if  he  is  to  live  in  society,  he  must  do  so ;  for  only 
distorted  men  can  so  live.)  "In  the  condition  which 
things  have  now  reached,  a  man  left  to  himself,  in 
the  midst  of  others,  at  his  birth,  would  be  the  most 
disfigured  of  all.  Prejudices,  authority,  necessity, 
example,  all  the  social  institutions  in  which  we  find 
ourselves  submerged,  would  stifle  Nature  in  him,  with- 
out putting  anything  in  its  place."  To  prevent  this, 
"  the  springing  shrub  must  be  protected  from  the  shock 
of  human  opinions,"  by  education.  "This  education 
comes  to  us  from  Nature,  or  men,  or  things.^  The 
internal  development  of  our  faculties  and  organs  is 
due  to  Nature ;  the  use  which  we  are  taught  to  make 
of  this  development  is  the  education  by  men ;  and  the 

1  See  p.  9,  and  note,  and  compare  the  soliloquy  of  Edmund,  in 
King  Lear,  Act  I.,  sc.  ii.  Edmund  is,  indeed,  the  natural  man, 
whose  character  Rousseau  might  have  studied  with  advantage. 

^  Cf.  my  Aristotle,  in  this  series,  pp.  9  sqq. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         101 

acquisition  of  our  own  experience,  through  the  objects 
which  affect  us,  is  the  education  by  things.''  ^  A  com- 
plete education  is  possible  only  when  these  three  kinds 
of  education  are  in  harmony.  "Now,  .  .  .  that  by 
Nature  does  not  depend  upon  us ;  that  by  things  de- 
pends only  in  certain  respects;  that  by  men  is  the 
only  one  of  which  we  are  really  masters."  It  follows 
that,  since  the  first  two  cannot  be  conformed  to  the 
third,  the  third  must  be  conformed  to  them,  if  there 
is  to  be  harmony.  Men,  in  endeavoring  to  impart 
education,  must  conform  to  the  methods  of  Nature  and 
things,  which  exert  resistance  but  never  authority. 
Hence,  all  authority  must  be  excluded  from  methods 
of  education.  Ignoring  things,  Rousseau  maintains 
that  all  education  must  conform  to  Nature.  But 
what  is  Nature?  It  is  the  sum  of  man's  instinctive 
or  spontaneous  tendencies,  before  they  are  altered 
by  opinion  or  reflection.  Education,  therefore,  must 
conform  to  these  tendencies,  and  would  do  so,  if  its 
only  aim  were  to  produce  men  out  of  all  relations  to 
other  men.  But  what  are  we  to  do,  when,  instead  of 
educating  man  for  himself,  we  wish  to  educate  him  for 
others?  Then  harmony  is  impossible.  "Compelled 
to  oppose  either  Nature  or  social  institutions,  we  must 
choose  between  the  man  and  the  citizen ;  for  we  cannot 
make  both  at  the  same  time."  .  .  .  "The  natural 
man  is  all  for  himself :  ^  he  is  the  numerical  unit,  the 
absolute  integer,  having  no  relations  save  to  himself 

1  This  is  a  false  classification.    Our  experience  extends  to  Nature 
and  man,  as  well  a»  to  things. 

2  See  Dante,  Helly  TIL,  22-69,  where  the  lot  of  those  who  '*  were 
for  themselves  "  (per  se/oro)  is  forcibly  depicted. 


102  KOUSSEAU 

and  his  equal.  The  civil  man  is  but  a  fractional 
unit,  depending  on  its  denominator,  and  deriving  its 
value  from  its  relation  to  the  integer,  which  is  the 
body  social.  Good  social  institutions  are  those  which 
best  understand  how  to  disnature  man,  to  take  away 
his  absolute  existence  and  give  him  in  exchange  a 
relative  one,  transferring  his  ego  to  the  common 
unit;  so  that  each  individual  thinks  himself  no 
longer  a  one,  but  a  part  of  the  unit,  and  is  sensible 
only  in  the  whole." 
/  Holding  that  education  for  manhood  and  education 
Jr^  for  citizenship  are  altogether  incompatible,  Eousseau 
^  insists  that  we  must  frankly  choose  between  the  two, 
otherwise  we  shall  make  "  one  of  the  men  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  a  Frenchman,  an  Englishman,  a  bourgeois  — 
a  nothing."  "The  choice,"  he  adds,  "is  not  difficult 
to  make-;  for  at  the  present  day  there  is  neither  coun- 
try, nor  citizen,  nor  public  institution  for  educating 
citizens."^  There  remains  only  family  education,  or 
t?he  education  by  Nature.     Though  aware  that  this 

//will  not  qualify  for  civic  functions,  Rousseau,  never- 
theless, proposes  to  adopt  it,  on  the  ground  that  it  will 
/  restore  the  natural,  unsophisticated  man,  whose  sole 
function  is  to  be  a  man,  "and  that  whoever  is  well 
trained  for  that,  cannot  fail  to  perform  those  which  are 
related  to  it.   \Whether  my  pupil  be  intended  for  the 

1  This  is  just  as  true  of  our  time  as  it  was  of  Rousseau's,  and  he 
is  in  part  to  blame  for  the  fact.  We  make  the  same  unwise  dis- 
tinction between  Nature  and  Culture,  between  man  and  citizen,  that 
O  he  did,  as  if  Culture  were  not  "  an  art  that  Nature  makes,"  and  as 
^y  if  citizenship  were  not  an  essential  function  of  man,  as  man!  We 
cannot  possibly  educate  a  man,  as  man,  without  educating  him  as 
a  citizen. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         103 

army,  the  church,  or  the  bar,  is  of  small  consequence.! 
Prior  to  the  calling  of  his  family,  Nature  calls  him  to 
human  life.     To  live  is  the  craft  I  desire  to  teach 
him.     When  he  leaves  my  hands,  I  admit  he  will  be 
neither  magistrate,   soldier,   nor  priest;   he  will  be, 
first  of  all,  a  man ;  all  that  a  man  may  be,  he  will  be 
able  to  be,  as  well  as  any  one.     ^hatever  changes  ^.^\Ci 
Fortune  may  have  in  store  for  him,  he  will  always  be  '  -^^^^ 
in  his  place." ^     "To  live,"  according  to  Kousseau,    -  ^^>j 
"  is  not  to  breathe ;  it  is  to  act,  to  use  our  organs,  our 
senses,  our  faculties,  and  all  the  parts  of  us  that  give 
us  the  feeling  of  our  existence.     The  man  who  has 
lived  most  is  not  he  who  has  counted  the  greatest 
number  of  years,  but  he  who  has  felt  life  most."  ^ 

Rousseau,  then,  undertakes  to  train  men  to  live, 
that  is,  to  enjoy  the  maximum  of  f eeling,^i  with  as  little 


|j^' 


/ 


1  Rousseau  everywhere  fails  to  distinguish  between  those  social 
functions  which  are  essential  to  man  as  man  —  family  duties,  citi- 
zenship—  from  those  which  are  not,  such  as  particular  crafts  and 
professions.  It  is  not  incumbent  upon  every  man  to  be  a  black- 
smith or  a  physician,  but  it  is  incumbent  on  every  one  to  be  a  good 
citizen)  This  failure  vitiates  his  entire  educational  system,  and 
has  le(^  to  serious  practical  consequences. 

2  This  is  another  of  Rousseau's  cardinal  errors.    He  makes  life 
consist  in  feeling,  but  forgets  that  all  the  distinctness,  variety,  and 
wealth  of  feeling  are  due  to  intellectual  categories.    Without  these, 
feeling,  if  it  were  anything,  would  be,  at  best,  but  a  vague,  mean- 
ingless stirring.    Rousseau  was  led  into  this  error  by  the  prevalent 
thought  of  his  time,  which  divorced  ideas  from  sensible  things,  and 
tried  to  construct  a  dogmatic  system  out  of  them,  as  so  divorced. 
Hume  and  Kant  partlj^  put  an  end  to  this  kind  of  thought ;  but  the  - 
world  has  been  slow  to  find  it  out.   [The  truth  is,  that  the  man  who    ^ 
lives  most,  is  he  who  most  completely  translates  feeling  (which 
includes  sensation  and  desire)  into  thought  anJwill,  and  thus  rises        / 
above  animality  and  instinct.    Feeling  is  but  see'^^ife-i  'I'he  "  tree  \ 
of  life,"  of  which  whoso  eats  lives  forever,  is  made  up  of  knowledge  y     ' 
and  will,  continuous  thought,  and  moral  self -direction  and  restraint, 


int.  Ojy' 


104  ROUSSEAU 

reflection  and  restraint  as  may  be.^  In  dealing  with 
the  earliest  years  of  the  child's  life,  when  undiffer- 
entiated feeling  and  desire  predominate,  he  lays  down 
many  sensible,  mostly  ne^ive,  rules.  The  young 
child  is  not  to  be  swaddled,  confined,  or  rocked,  but 
to  be  allowed  the  utmost  freedom  of  limb  and  voice ; 
it  is  to  be  nursed  and  tended  by  its  mother,  and  not 
by  a  hired  nurse,  and  exposed  to  a  reasonable  amount 
of  heat,  cold,  and  risk,  in  order  that  it  may  become 
robust  and  courageous.  Its  cries  must  be  attended  to 
at  once,  in  so  far  as  they  express  real  needs,  but  no 
further.  If  it  wilfully  uses  crying  in  order  to  obtain 
what  it  wants,  but  does  not  need,  it  must  neither  be 
awed  into  silence  nor  indulged.  In  the  former  case 
it  will  learn  to  submit  to  authority,  in  the  latter,  to 
exercise  it.  "  A  child  spends  six  or  seven  years  in 
this  way,  in  the  hands  of  women,  a  victim  of  their 
caprices  or  of  his  own,  and  .  .  .  after  Nature  has 
been  stifled  by  passions  artificially  created,  this  fac- 
titious creature  is  turned  over  to  a  tutor,  who  com- 
pletes the  development  of  the  artificial  germs  which 
he  finds  already  formed,  and  who  teaches  him  every- 
thing except  to  know  himself,  to  make  the  most  of 
himself,  to  live  and  make  himself  happy. ^  Finally, 
when   this  slavish  and  tyrannical    child,    crammed 


1  Cf.  Goethe,  Faust,  Pt.  I.,  lines  38-50.  The  passage  is  quoted 
on  p.  113.  Faust  is  everywhere  a  protest  against  the  teaching  of 
Rousseau,  represented  by  Mephistopheles. 

2  Happiness,  or  what  we  call  ''a  good  time,"  Rousseau  desired, 
above  all  things,  for  himself,  and,  therefore,  for  children  —  which 
was  the  surest  way  not  to  get  it,  as  he  discovered  to  his  cost. 
Happiness,  as  such,  can  never  be  a  true  or  wortjiy  human  air^ 
See  the  closing  sections  of  Romola. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATION^SX  THEORIES         105 

with  knowledge  and  devoid  of  sense,  as  weak  of  body 
as  of  soul,  is  thrown  into  the  world,  to  display  his 
ineptitude,  his  pride,  and  all  his  vices,  he  makes  us 
deplore  human  misery  and  perversity.  But  we  are 
mistaken:  he  is  the  child  of  our  whims.  Nature's 
child  is  quite  different." 

But  how  is  this  sad  result  to  be  avoided?  Kousseau 
answers :  "  Stand  guard  over  him  from  the  moment  he 
comes  into  the  world.  Take  possession  of  him,  and 
do  not  leave  him  till  he  is  a  man.  You  will  not  suc- 
ceed otherwise."  Father  and  mother,  as  the  natural 
tutor  and  nurse,  must  combine  all  their  efforts  to  de- 
velop the  nature  of  the  child.  And  Rousseau  says 
some  admirable  and  much-needed  things  on  the  duty 
of  parents  in  this  respect.  The  bosom  of  the  family 
is  the  proper  place  for  early  education,  and  there  is 
no  more  sacred  or  delightful  duty  than  that  of  educat- 
ing children.  "A  father,  when  he  begets  and  feeds 
his  children,  performs  but  one-third  of  his  task.  He 
owes  men  to  his  kind,  sociable  men  to  society,  citizens 
to  the  state.  Every  man  who  can  pay  this  triple  debt, 
and  fails  to  do  so,  is  culpable,  and  perhaps  more  cul- 
pable when  he  half  pays  it.  Neither  poverty,  nor 
work,  nor  any  human  consideration  relieves  a  man 
from  the  duty  of  rearing  and  educating  his  children 
himself.  Reader,  you  may  take  my  word  for  it:  I 
warn  every  one  who  has  a  heart  and  neglects  such 
sacred  duties,  that  he  will  long  shed  bitter  tears  over 
his  fault,  and  will  never  be  consoled."  ^ 

1  In  writing  this,  Rousseau  thought  of  his  own  sad  example ;  se« 
Confessions,  Bk.  XIII.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  glad  that  the 
Duchess  of  Luxembourg,  who  tried  to  find  his  abandoned  chil- 


106  ROUSSEAU 

In  spite  of  this,  Rousseau,  with  singular  inconsist' 
ency,  shrinks  from  attempting  to  show  in  detail  how 
parents  may  educate  their  own  children.  Instead  of 
this,  he  selects  circumstances  altogether  exceptional 
and  artificial.  "I  have  resolved  to  give  myself  an 
imaginary  pupil,  to  suppose  myself  of  the  proper  age, 
and  possessed  of  health,  knowledge,  and  all  the  talents 
required  by  one  who  would  labor  on  his  education, 
and  to  guide  him  from  the  moment  of  his  birth  to  the 
moment  when,  as  a  full-grown  man,  he  will  require 
no  guide  but  himself."  The  model  tutor  must  be 
young,  boyish  in  tastes  and  feeling,  and  above  accept- 
ing money  for  his  services.  "  There  are  professions 
so  noble,  that  no  one  can  pursue  them  for  money 
without  showing  that  he  is  unworthy  to  pursue  them." 
He  must  be  willing  to  take  charge  of  his  pupil  for 
twenty-five  years;  for  change  of  tutors  is  fatal.  He 
must  realize  that  he  has  but  one  duty,  —  to  teach  his 
pupil  the  duties  of  man.  As  to  the  pupil,  he  must  be 
of  good  family,  of  robust  health,  of  ordinary  ability, 
rich,^  born  in  a  temperate  climate,  preferably  in 
France,  and  —  an  orphan.  The  tutor  will  choose  for 
his  ward,  at  birth,  a  nurse  healthy  in  body  and-  in 
heart,  of  good  character  and  temperate  habits,  cleanly, 
gentle,  patient,  and  willing  to  remain  with  the  child 
as  long  as  it  needs  a  nurse.  The  tutor  and  the  nurse 
must  be  in  complete  accord,  and  the  child  never  dream 
of  any  change  of  government;  in  short,  the  tutor  will 

dren,  did  not  succeed.  Rousseau's  finest  theories  had  nothing  to 
do  with  his  practice.  He  was  moral  only  for  rhetorical  purposes, 
and  in  imagination. 

1  "The  poor,"  he  says,  "  need  no  education;  that  furnished  by 
their  condition  is  compulsory ;  they  can  have  no  other." 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         107 

order  everything.  The  directions  which  Rousseau 
gives  regarding  the  treatment  and  food  of  the  infant, 
and  the  regimen  and  mode  of  life  of  the  nurse  are,  in 
the  main,  excellent.  They  may  be  summed  up  in  the 
one  precept :  Let  Nature  have  her  way.  "  The  child 
at  birth  is  already  the  pupil,  not  of  the  tutor,  but  of 
Nature.  The  tutor  merely  studies  under  this  first 
teacher  and  prevents  her  efforts  from  being  balked. 
He  watches  the  baby,  observes  it,  follows  it,  descries 
the  first  dawning  of  its  feeble  intelligence." 

Rousseau  rightly  insists  that  man's  education  begins 
at  his  birth,  and  that  what  is  acquired  unconsciously 
far  exceeds,  in  amount  and  importance,  what  is  ac- 
quired consciously  and  through  instruction.^  "All  is 
instruction  for  animate,  sensible  beings."  What  he 
says  with  regard  to  the  gradual  growth  of  a  world  in 
the  child's  consciousness  ^  is  in  every  way  admirable, 
and  forestalls  many  of  the  results  of  our  latest  psy- 
chology. Rousseau,  indeed,  was  a  psychologist  of 
the  first  rank.  "The  first  sensations  of  children,"  he 
says,  "are  purely  affective;  they  perceive  onl}^  pleas- 
ure and  pain.  Being  unable  eithy  to  walk  or  grasp, 
they  require  a  great  deal  of  time  for  the  gradual  for- 
mation of  those  representative  sensations  ^  which  show 

1  This  is  a  truth  to  which  kindergaertners  ought  to  give  serious  heed. 

■^  Had  he  pursued  this  thought,  and  not  been  led  astray  by  his 
own  personal  feelings,  he  would  have  told  us  that  education  is 
nothing  more  or  less  than  the  formation,  in  the  child's  conscious- 
ness, of  a  rational  world,  that  is,  of  a  world  in  which  every  object 
and  act  has  its  true  distinguishing  relations  for  intellect,  and  its 
true  distinguishing  value  for  affection. 

3  Pre-Kantian  metaphysics  still  allowed  people  to  use  such  ex- 
pressions as  this ;  but  in  the  next  clause  Rousseau  shows  that  he 
has  a  glimpse  of  the  truth. 


108  ROUSSEAU 

them  the  objects  outside  of  themselves;  but,  while 
these  objects  are  multiplying,  withdrawing,  so  to 
speak,  from  their  eyes,  and  assuming  for  them  dimen- 
sions and  shapes,  the  return  of  the  affective  sensations 
begins  to  subject  them  to  the  rule  of  habit";  and 
%abit  is  something  to  be  avoided\  "  Food  and  sleep, 
too  exactly  measured,  become  necessary  for  them  at 
N  y  stated  intervals ;  and  soon  the  desire  arises,  not  from 
s<^/need,  but  from  habit ;  or,  rather,  habit  adds  a  new  need 
to  that  of  Nature.  This  must  be  prevented.'^.  .  . 
., "  The  only  habit  which  the  child  should  be  allowed  to 
contract  is  the  habit  of  contracting  none.  Let  it  not 
be  carried  on  one  arm  more  than  on  the  other ;  let  it 
not  be  accustomed  to  offer  one  hand  rather  than  the 
other,  or  to  use  it  more  frequently,  to  eat,  sleep,  act 
at  stated  times,  or  to  be  unable  to  remain  alone  either 
night  or  day.  Prepare,  a  long  way  in  advance,  for 
the  dominion  of  its  freedom,  and  the  use  of  its 
powers,  by  leaving  its  body  to  its  natural  habits,  and 
placing  it  in  a  condition  to  be  always  its  own  mas- 
ter, and  in  all  things  to  carry  out  its  own  will,  as 
soon  as  it  has  one."  ^ 

1  These  precepts  are  both  unnatural  and  unwise.  Even  in  a 
"state  of  "Nature,"  children  learn  habits  from  the  very  first.  In- 
deed, it  may  be  safely  said  that  all  evolution,  whether  in  Nature  or 
Culture,  is  due  to  the  acquisition  of  habits.  Habit  is  merely  the 
incarnation  and  organization  of  experience  and  action,  by  which 
both  become  easier  and  richer,  and  leave  room  for  advance.  It  is 
economy  of  energy.  To  be  consistent,  Rousseau  ought  to  have 
said :  Do  not  allow  the  child  to  see- with  its  eyes,  rather  than  its 
ears,  or  to  walk  on  its  feet  rather  than  on  its  head.  Seeing  with 
the  eyes  is  no  less  the  result  of  habit  than  right-handedness.  And 
what  is  all  excellence  but  perfected  habit?  How  does  the  great 
musician  learn  to  play  or  sing  except  by  habit  ?  What  is  all  social 
life  but  an  agreement  about  habits?    What  is  language  but  the 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         109 

What  Rousseau  next  says  of  the  necessity  and  the 
method  of  freeing  the  child  early,  by  careful  habitua- 
tion (!),  from  those  irrational  fears  and  repulsions 
which  derange  so  many  lives  —  fear  of  spiders,  toads, 
mice,  masks,  detonations,  darkness,  etc.  —  is  excel- 
lent; but  he  records  a  very  exceptional  experience 
when  he  says,  "  I  have  never  seen  a  peasant  —  man, 
woman,  or  child  —  afraid  of  spiders."  Much  of  that 
unlovely  trait  of  fastidiousness,  which  at  the  present 
day  so  often  degenerates  into  cruel  unsyrapathy  for  all 
that  is  not  immaculate,  sweet-scented,  and  aesthetic, 
is  due  to  a  neglect  of  Kousseau's  precepts. 

In  course  of  time,  the  child  emerges  from  mere 
"  affective  "  sensations,  and  begins  to  construct,  out  of 
that  portion  of  these  which  is  less  urgent,  a  world  of 
things  in  time  and  space.  What  Rousseau  has  to  say 
of  this  transition  contains  much  truth,  and  testifies 
to  fine  observation ;  but  it  is  marred  throughout  by  a 
false  metaphysics,  which  made  him  think  that  the 
world  of  external  objects  is  one  thing,  and  the  sys- 
tem of  his  organized  sensations  another.  What  can 
we  say  to  a  passage  like  the  following,  for  example  ? 
"  In  the  early  part  of  life,  when  memory  and  imagina- 

habit  of  using  the  same  sounds  for  the  same  thoughts  ?  Had  Rous- 
seau said  that,  while  education  is  the  acquisition  of  habits  that 
create  a  world  of  harmony  between  the  individual  and  his  fellow- 
beings,  conscious  and  unconscious,  and,  therefore,  the  very  condi- 
tion of  life  and  progress,  yet  the  individual  should  be  careful  not 
to  allow  any  habit  to  master  him,  when  it  proves  prejudicial  to 
such  life  or  progress,  he  would  have  uttered  a  great  and  fruitful 
truth.  But  his  whole  vision  was  dimmed  by  the  false  notion  that 
the  normal  man  is  the  natural  man,  and  the  latter  a  solitary  sav- 
age, obedient  to  his  momentary  instincts  and  caprices.  Such  a 
man  never  did,  or  could,  exist. 


110  ROUSSEAU 

tion  are  still  inactive,  the  child  attends  only  to  what 
affects  its  senses.  Its  sensations  being  the  first  mate- 
rials of  its  knowledge,  by  offering  them  to  it  in  a 
suitable  order  we  are  preparing  its  memory  to  fur- 
nish them,  later,  in  the  same  order,  to  its  understand- 
ing; but,  since  it  attends  only  to  its  sensations,  it 
is  enough  at  first  to  show  it  very  distinctly  the 
connection  of  these  same  sensations  with  the  objects 
that  cause  them."  Just  as  if  the  very  objects  were 
not  groups  of  sensations,  already  organized  into  things 
in  time  and  space,  by  the  activity  of  the  distinguish- 
ing understanding !  /And  as  if  a  child,  attentive  only 
to  sensations,  could  be  conscious  of  any  objects  to 
refer  them  to!  )  When  it  is  conscious  of  such  objects, 
its  understanding  has  already  been  at  work  in  com- 
plicated and  far-reaching  ways.  Rousseau^s  prejudice 
in  favor  of  sensation,  and  against  understanding, 
closed  his  eyes  to  the  most  obvious  facts,  and  led  him 
into  the  gravest  errors  with  regard  to  early  education.^ 
Man  is  a  "  rational  animal "  from  the  first  moment  of 
his  existence.  His  first  conscious  feeling,  however 
vague,  implies  an  act  of  the  understanding,  which  is 
busy  organizing  sensations  long  before  it  knows  any- 
thing of  an  "external  world."  His  very  body  is  but 
organized  sensation.  Kousseau,  however,  failing  to 
see  this,  but  recognizing  that  the  notions  of  good  and 
evil  are  due  to  reason,  maintains  that,  in  its  earliest 
years,  the  child  is  incapable  of  any  moral  education : 
if  controlled  at  all,  it  must  be  controlled  by  simple 

1  In  this  connection  should  be  read  Rosmini's  unfinished  work, 
The  Ruling  Principle  of  Method  in  Education^  translated  by  Mrs. 
William  Grey.    Boston;  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES  111 

force.  "Reason  alone,"  he  says,  "acquaints  us  with 
good  and  evil.  The  conscience,  which  makes  us  love 
the  one  and  hate  the  other,  though  independent  of 
reason,  cannot  develop  without  it.^  Before  the  age  of 
reason,  we  do  good  and  evil  without  knowing  that  we 
do,  and  there  is  no  morality  in  our  actions,  although 
there  sometimes  is  in  the  feeling  about  others'  actions 
having  relation  to  us.  A  child  tries  to  upset  every- 
thing he  sees;  he  breaks  or  rends  everything  he  can 
lay  his  hands  upon;  he  grasps  a  bird  as  he  would  a 
stone,  and  chokes  it  without  knowing  what  he  is 
doing." 

Rousseau  is  entirely  right  in  maintaining  that  such 
actions  imply  no  innate  evil  on  the  part  of  the  child, 
being  merely  so  many  modes  in  which  it  gives  effec- 
tive expression  to  its  undisciplined  activity;  nor  is 
he  wrong  when  he  says  that  the  child's  desire  to 
dominate  others  and  make  them  act  for  it  —  a  desire 
which  readily  degenerates  into  tyranny,  impatience, 
badness  —  proceeds  from  the  same  source.  To  pre- 
vent such  degenerations,  he  lays  down  four  maxims, 
whose  intent,  he  says,  is  "to  give  more  real  liberty 
and  less  authority  (empire)  to  children,  to  allow  them 
to  do  more  for  themselves,  and  exact  less  from  others." 
The  gist  of  them  is,  that  the  child  should  be  helped, 
as  far  as  necessary,  to  do  whatever  is  really  necessary 
for  its  physical  well-being,  and  no  farther;  that  no 
attention  should  be  paid  to  its  whims,  opinions,  or 

1  Here  again  we  have  both  bad  psychology  and  bad  metaphysics. 
That  which  cannot  develop  without  something  else  is  surely  not 
independent  of  that  something;  for  a  thing  is  not  distinct  from  its 
development.  And  surely  the  love  of  good  is  not  something  irra- 
tional ;  nor  is  the  mind  a  group  of  separate  "  faculties." 


112  ROUSSEAU 

irrational  desires.  This  would  be  unexceptionable, 
if  the  child's  spiritual  needs  had  been  taken  into  ac- 
count; but  the  omission  is  characteristic  of  Rousseau. 
The  first  book  of  l^mile  closes  with  a  number  of 
disconnected  precepts,  such  as,  that  a  child  should 
never  be  allowed  to  have  anything  because  it  cries 
for  it;  that  it  should  not  be  weaned  too  soon;  that  it 
should  not  be  fed  on  milk  gruel ;  that  it  should  not 
have  heaps  of  gaudy  and  expensive  toys;  that  it 
should  be  made  to  cut  its  teeth  on  soft  objects;  that 
it  should  be  confined  to  a  small  vocabulary,  but 
taught  to  articulate  its  words  correctly  from  the  first. 
Most  of  these  are  wise,  and  certainly  "according  to 
Nature ! " 


CHAPTER  VI 

ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES 

Childhood 

(:^mile,  Bk.  II.) 

Despise  but  Reason  and  Science,  man's  supreme  power ; 
allow  thyself  but  to  be  confirmed  by  the  Spirit  of  Lies  in  works 
of  glamor  and  enchantment,  then  I  have  thee  already  without 
condition.  —  (Mephistopheles  in)  Faust,  Tt.  L,  lines  1498-1602 
(Schroer). 

With  the  advent  of  language,  infancy  closes,  and 
childhood,  in  the  narrower  sense,  begins.  Tears  and 
cries,  having  now  found  a  substitute,  should  be  dis- 
couraged, and  every  effort  made  to  free  the  child  from 
timidity  and  querulousness.  Dangerous  weapons  and 
fire  should  be  kept  out  of  his  way;  but  otherwise  he 
should  be  allowed  the  utmost  freedom,  and  as  little 
notice  as  possible  taken  of  his  occasional  bumps  and 
bruises,  which  are  valuable  experiences.  He  should 
not  be  taught  anything  that  he  can  naturally  find  out 
for  himself  —  not  even  to  walk  or  climb.  Having 
complete  freedom,  he  will  get  a  few  contusions,  but 
therewith  a  great  deal  of  invaluable  training.  "  It  is 
at  this  second  stage,"  says  Rousseau,  "that  the  life 
of  the  individual  properly  begins;  it  is  now  that  he 
attains  self-consciousness.  Memory  extends  the  feel- 
ing of  identity  to  all  the  moments  of  his  existence; 
I  113 


114  ROUSSEAU 

he  becomes  truly  one  and  the  same,  and  consequently 
already  capable  of  happiness  or  misery.  He  must 
henceforth  be  considered  as  a  moral  being."  This  is, 
indeed,  a  new  stage ! 

To  Rousseau,  moral  existence  obviously  means 
capability  of  happiness  or  misery.  To  be  moral  is  to 
^be  happy  J  to  be  immoral  is  to  be  miserable;  and, 
given  his  point  of  view,  no  other  conclusion  could 
well  have  been  reached.  It  follows  that  every  effort 
ought  to  be  made  to  insure  the  happiness  of  the  child. 
"Of  children  that  are  born,"  he  says,  "half,  at  most, 
reach  adolescence,  and  your  pupil  will  probably  never 
reach  manhood.  What,  then,  are  we  to  think  of  that 
barbarous  education  which  sacrifices  the  present  to  an 
uncertain  future,  which  loads  a  child  with  all  sorts 
of  chains,  and  begins  by  rendering  it  tnifie^able^  in 
order  to  prepare  for  it  some  distant,  pretended  hap- 
piness, which  it  will  probably  never  enjoy  ? "  .  .  . 
"Who  knows  how  many  children  perish  victims  of 
the  extravagant  wisdom  of  a  father  or  a  teacher  ? 
Happy  to  escape  from  his  cruelty,  they  derive  no  other 
advantage  from  the  woes  he  has  made  them  suffer 
than  this,  that  they  die  without  regretting  a  life  of 
which  they  have  known  only  the  torments."  .  .  . 
"  Fathers,  do  you  know  the  moment  when  death  awaits 
your  children  ?  Do  not  prepare  regret  for  yourselves 
by  depriving  them  of  the  few  moments  which  Nature 
lends  them.  As  soon  as  they  are  able  to  feel  the 
pleasure  of  being,  see  that  they  enjoy  it;  take  care 
that,  whenever  it  may  please  God  to  call  them,  they 
do  not  die  without  having  tasted  life."  .  .  .  "You 
will  tell  me  that  this  is  the  time  for  correcting  man's 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         115 

evil  inclinations ;  that  it  is  in  childhood,  when  pains 
are  least  felt,  that  we  should  multiply  them,  in  order 
to  forestall  them  for  the  age  of  reason.  But  who  has 
told  you  that  this  arrangement  is  within  your  power, 
or  that  all  these  fine  instructions,  with  which  you  load 
the  weak  mind  of  a  child,  will  not  one  day  be  more 
pernicious  than  useful  to  him?"  .  .  .  "Why  do  you 
impose  on  him  more  evils  than  his  condition  can  bear, 
without  being  sure  that  these  present  evils  will  be 
made  up  for  in  the  future?  And  how  will  you  prove 
to  me  that  those  evil  inclinations,  which  you  pretend 
to  cure,  do  not  come  from  your  ill-advised  care,  far 
more  than  from  Nature?  Miserable  foresight,  which 
renders  a  being  unhappy  in  the  present,  in  the  ill- 
founded  hope  of  making  him  happy  in  the  future  ! " 
.  .  .  "We  do  not  know  what  absolute  happiness  or 
unhappiness  is.  Everything  is  mixed  in  this  life. 
We  never  taste  a  pure  feeling  ;  wfi.are  never  two  min- 
utes in  the  same  state."  .  .  .  I'Good  and  evil  are 
common  to  us  all,  but  in  different  degrees.  The  hap-  / 
piest  is  he  who  suffers  fewest  pains;  the  unhappiest 
he  who  feels  fewest  pleasures.  Always  there  are 
more  sufferings  than  enjoyments :  that  is  the  differ-  ^ 
ence  common  to  all.  jThe  felicity  of  man  here  below  ,  / 
is,  therefore,  only  a  negative  state.  It  must  be  esti- 
mated by  the  smallness  of  the  number  of  evils  which 
he. suffers.^ 

^"  Every  feeling  of  pain  is  inseparable  from  the  desire 
to  be  delivered  from  it ;  every  idea  of  pleasure  is  in- 
separable from  the  desire  to  enjoy  it;  every  desire 
supposes  privatio]£\  Hence,  it  is  in  the  disproportion 
between  our  desires  and  our  faculties  that  our  misery 


V 


116  ROUSSEAU 

lies."  .  .  .  "Where,  then,  lies  human  wisdom  or  the 
'  way  to  true  happiness  ? "  .  .  .  "It  lies  in  diminish- 
ing the  excess  of  our  desires  over  our  faculties,  and 
establishing  a  perfect  equality  between  power  and 
will.  It  is  only  when  this  is  done  that,  though  all 
the  powers  are  in  action,  the  soul  will,  nevertheless, 
remain  peaceful,  and  man  be  well  ordered.  It  is  thus 
that  Nature,  which  does  everything  for  the  best,  ar- 
ranged matters  at  the  beginning."  ...  "It  is  only 
in  this  primitive  state  that  equilibrium  between 
power  and  desire  is  found,  and  that  man  is  not  un- 
happy." ...  "It  is  the  imagination  that  extends 
for  us  the  measure  of  things  possible,  whether  in  good 
or  evil,  and  which,  consequently,  excites  and  nourishes 
the  desires  with  the  hope  of  satisfaction.  But  the  ob- 
ject, which  at  first  seemed  close  at  hand,  flees  quicker 
than  we  can  pursue  it.  When  we  think  we  are  reach- 
ing it,  it  transforms  itself  and  appears  afar  off."  .  .  . 
"Thus  we  exhaust  ourselves,  without  reaching  our 
goal,  and  the  more  we  gain  on  enjoyment,  the  further 
happiness  withdraws  from  us.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  nearer  man  remains  to  his  natural  condition,  the 
smaller  is  the  difference  between  his  faculties  and  his 
desires,  and,  therefore,  the  less  distance  is  he  removed 
from  happiness.  He  is  never  less  miserable  than 
when  he  seems  deprived  of  all ;  ^  for  misery  does  not 
consist  in  being  deprived  of  things,  but  in  the  need 
which  is  felt  for  them."  .  .  .  "The  real  world  has 
its  limits;  the  world  of  the  imagination  is  infinite. 
Being  unable  to  enlarge  the  one,  let  us  contract  the 

1  It  is  Rousseau  the  vagabond  that  speaks  here.     See  pages 
33  sq. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         117 

other."  .  .  .  "When  we  say  that  man  is  weak,  what 
do  we  mean?  The  word  weakness  signifies  a  rela-\ 
tion."  .  .  .  "He  whose  power  is  greater  than  his 
needs,  were  he  an  insect  or  a  worm,  is  a  strong  being. 
He  whose  needs  are  greater  than  his  power,  were  he 
a  conqueror,  a  hero,  or  a  god,  is  a  weak  being.  INIan 
is  very  strong  when  he  is  content  to  be  what  he  is ;  he 
is  very  weak  when  he  tries  to  rise  above  humanity.^ 
Do  not,  therefore,  imagine  that,  in  enlarging  your 
faculties,  you  are  enlarging  your  powers.  On  the 
contrary,  you  are  diminishing  them,  if  your  pride  en- 
larges more  yet."  .  .  .  "  It  is  by  laboring  to  increase 
our  happiness  that  we  turn  it  into  misery.  Any  man 
who  should  be  contented  to  live  merely,  would  live 
happy,  and  therefore  would  live  goodj  for  what  ad- 
vantage would  he  have  in  being  bad  ?  " 

"Everything  is  folly  and  contradiction  in  human 
institutions."  .  .  .  "Foresight  !  foresight,  which 
continually  carries  us  beyond  ourselves,  and  often 
places  us  where  we  shall  never  really  arrive,  is  the 
true  source  of  all  our  miseries.  What  folly  for  an 
ephemeral  being,  like  man,  to  be  looking  forever  into 
a  distant  future,  which  rarely  comes,  and  to  neglect 
the  present,  of  which  he  is  sure ! "  .  .  .  "  Is  it 
Nature  that  thus  carries  men  so  far  from  themselves  ?  " 
.  .  .  "0  man!  concentrate  thine  existence  within 
thyself,  and  thou  wilt  no  longer  be  miserable.  Re- 
main in  the  place  which  Nature  has  assigned  thee  in 
the  scale  of  beings ;  nothing  can  make  thee  leave  it. 
Do  not  recalcitrate  against  the  hard  law  of  necessity, 

1  Goethe,  Faust,  Prologue  in  Heaven,  puts  this  sentiment  in  th 
mouth  of  Mephistopheles.    Lines  45-50, 68-65. 


118  ROUSSEAU 

and  do  not,  by  trying  to  resist  it,  exhaust  the  powers 
which  heaven  has  lent  thee,  not  to  extend  or  prolong 
thine  existence,  but  merely  to  prese£ye  it,  as,  and  as 
long  as,  it  pleases  the  same.  Thy  liberty,  thy  power, 
extend  only  as  far  as  thy  natural  forces,  and  no 
further.  All  the  rest  is  but  slavery,  illusion,  pres- 
tige." .  .  .  "  Even  dominion  is  servile,  when  it  rests 
on  opinion;  for  thou  dependest  on  the  prejudices  of 
those  thou  governest  through  prejudice. "...  "  The 
only  man  who  does  his  will  is  he  who,  in  order  to  do 
so,  has  no  need  to  eke  out  his  own  a.rms  with  those  of 
another ;  whence  it  follows  that  the  first  of  all  blessings 
is  not  authority,  but  liberty.      This  is  my  fundamental 

\  maxim.  We  have  but  to  apply  it  to  childhood,  and 
all  the  rules  of  education  will  flow  from  it." 

It  has  seemed  well  to  make  this  long  quotation, 

because  it  contains  Rousseau's  fundamental  view  of 

/     life,  and  the  kernel  of  his  educational  theory.     The 

^  end  of  life  is  ha}!5ipiness,  and  happiness  is  the  sensu- 
ous enjoyment  of  pach  moment,  as  it  passes,  without 
thought,  plan,  or  aspiration  for  higher  things,  nay, 
without  regard  to  others.     All  efforts  after  a  divine 

/life  of  deep  insight,  strong,  just  affection,  and  far- 
reaching  beneficent  will;  all  unions  among  men  for 
the  realization  of  this  life,  in  and  through  society,  are 
folly  and  contradiction.  iTo  live  as  the  beast  lives,  in 
his  ap;Qointed  place,  is  the  chief  end  of  man.;  Because 
^^  some  children  die  before  they  reach  youth  or  man- 
^  hood,  it  is  cruel  to  deprive  any,  through  discipline, 
self-denying,  continuous  tasks,  or  thought  of  the 
future,  of  ^the  manifold,  thoughtless  delights  of  the 
present.   \ Discipline  and  self-control  have  no  value  in 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         119 

themselves;  at  best  they  are  but  means  for  future 
pleasure.!  The  child  that  dies  without  having  enjoyed 
pleasure  has  not  "tasted  of  life."  No  matter  what 
his  spiritual  attainments,  or  the  beauty  and  nobility 
of  his  character,  his  existence  has  been  a  failure. 
^Whatever  interferes  with  pr^ent  pl^sure  is  Qy}}-/ 

It  would  hardly  be  possible  to  form  a  more  pitiful 
conception  of  human  life  and  education  than  this. 
There  is  not  a  imnaLor  noble  trait  in  it..  The  truth  / 
is,  Kousseau  was  so  purely  a  creature  of  sense  and  ' 
undisciplined  impulse  that  he  never,  for  one  moment, 
rose  to  a  consciousness  of  any  moral  life  at  all.  He 
could  not,  therefore,  take  delight  in  it.  Noblesse 
ohligey  the  ruling  maxim  of  the  unselfish,  moral,  and 
social  man,  was  in  him  replaced  by  the  maxim  of  the 
selfish,  undutiful  churl  and  reprobate,  Bonheur  invite. 
But,  in  spite  of  all  this,  nay,  by  reason  of  it,  Rousseau 
and  his  theories  are  most  interesting  and  fruitful  ob- 
jects of  study.  In  days  when  uncontrolled  individual- 
ism still  has  its  advocates,  it  is  well  fully  to  realize 
what  it  means.  And  this  is  what  Bousseau  has  told 
us,  in  a  siren  song  of  mock-prophetic  unction,  which 
readily  captivates  and  lures  to  destruction  vast  crowds 
of  thoughtless  sentimejlte;lists.  He  has  told  us,  fur- 
ther, in  the  same  tone,  how  children  may  be  prepared 
for  a  life  of  individualism ;  and  his  sense-drunk  rav- 
ings, in  denunciation  of  all  moral  discipline,  have 
been,  and  still  are,  received  as  divine  oracles  by  mil- 
lions of  parents  and  teachers,  who  have  the  training 
of  children  in  their  hands.  And  hence  it  has  come  to 
pass  that  the  old  maxim :  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way 
that  he  should  go,  has  been  replaced  by  this  other: 


120  ROUSSEAU 

rSee  that  the  child  have  a  "good  time."  J  No  wonder 


that  Qjood  Time  has  become  the  chief  American  goc[!\ 
Kousseau's  education  according  to  Nature,  starting 
from  an  utterly  calumnious  notion  of  child-nature, 
and  of  human  nature  in  general,  and  ignoring  all  that 
is  characteristic  and  noble  in  both,  proves  to  be  an 
education  for  pure,  reckless  individualism,  destruc- 
tive of  all  social  institutions,  and  all  true  civiliza- 
tion.    Its  aim  is  the  undisputed  rule  of  caprice. 

But  to  proceed.  True  to  his  principles,  Rousseau 
maintains  that  children  should  not  be  taught  obedi- 
ence :  ^  their  relations  to  persons  should  be  exactly  the 
same  as  their  relations  to  things,  which  resist,  but  do 
not  command.  Human  relations  should  be  replaced 
by  mechanical  relations,  if  the  precious  individuality 
of  the  child  is  to  be  safeguarded.  When  a  child  tries 
to  go  beyond  his  natural  limitations,  he  is  not  to  be 
forbidden,  but  prevented.  He  is  to  meet  the  iron  law 
of  Nature  everywhere,  the  love  of  humanity  nowhere. 
Nature  is  to  be  all  in  all. 

If  children  are  not  to  obey,  neither  are  they  to  com- 
mand—  not  even  when  they  accompany  their  com- 
mands with  Please,  or  If  you  please.  They  are  to  be 
listened  to  only  when  they  ask  for  things  good  for 
them.  "  The  surest  way  to  render  your  child  miser- 
able is  to  accustom  him  to  obtain  everything  he 
wants."  His  needs  are  really  few,  and  the  fewer  thsi 
'  better.     By  humoring  him,  you  make  him  a  despot, 

1  "  No  one,"  he  says,  "  not  even  the  father,  has  a  right  to 
command  a  child  to  do  what  is  of  no  good  to  him."  Were  he  com- 
manded to  do  what  is  good  for  others,  he  might  in  time  hecome 
generous,  and  degenerate  into  civilization.  Cf.  Carpenter's  Civili- 
zatiorit  its  Cause  and  Cure. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         121 

"at  once  the  vilest  of  slaves  and  the  wretchedest  of 
creatures."  .  .  .  "  Weakness,  united  with  despotism, 
begets  but  folly  and  misery."  The  rule  is:  "Give  to 
children,  as  far  as  possible,  everything  that  can  afford 
them  a  real  pleasure ;  refuse  them  whatever  they  ask 
from  a  mere  whim,  or  to  perform  an  act  of  authority." 
Of  course,  children,  as  natural  creatures,  are  never 
to  be  reasoned  with :  Nature  never  reasons.  "  I  see 
nothing  more  stupid,"  says  Eousseau,  "than  children 
that  have  been  reasoned  with."  .  .  .  "Use  force 
with  children,  and  reason  with  men;  such  is  the 
natural  order."  Moreover,  such  things  as  loyalty  to 
parents,  and  affectionate  respect  for  their  wishes,  as 
such,  must  never  be  appealed  to.  The  result  might 
be  deference,  something  altogether  unknown  to  Nature 
and  hostile  to  liberty.  The  child  must  be  guided 
solely  by  the  hard  yoke  of  natural  necessity.  "  Thus 
you  'will  render  him  patient,  equable,  resigned,  and 
peaceful,  even  when  he  does  not  get  what  he  wishes; 
for  it  is  in  the  nature  of  man  to  endure  patiently  the 
necessity  of  things,  but  not  the  ill  will  of  others." 
.  .  .  "No  one  ought  to  undertake  to  rear  a  child, 
unless  he  knows  how  to  guide  him  where  he  wishes 
by  the  sole  laws  of  the  possible  and  the  impossible. 
The  sphere  of  both  being  equally  unknown  to  him, 
may  be  widened  or  narrowed  about  him  as  one  pleases. 
He  may  be  bound,  pushed,  or  held  back,  with  merely 
the  chain  of  necessity,  without  his  murmuring.  He 
may  be  rendered  supple  and  docile  by  the  mere  force 
of  things,  and  vice  have  no  occasion  to  spring  up  in 
him ;  for  the  passions  are  never  roused  so  long  as  they 
are  without  effect."     In  this  way  he  will  never  learn 


122  ROUSSEAU 

what  kindness  is,  and  so  acquire  the  unnatural  sen- 
timent of  gratitude,  or,  indeed,  any  sentiment  of  a 
human  sort.    JHe  will  be  as  natural  as  a  kitten  !\ 

It  follows  from  such  principles  that  the  child  must 
neither  be  chidden,  punished,  nor  called  upon  to  beg 
pardon.  "Devoid  of  all  morality  in  his  actions,  he 
can  do  nothing  that  is  morally  evil,  or  that  deserves 
chastisement  or  reprimand."  And  yet  the  child  was 
declared,  a  little  before,  to  be  a  moral  being  (see  p.  114). 
'V--  Returning  once  more  to  his  favorite  incontestable 
maxim,  "  that  the  first  movements  of  Kature  are  always 
right:  that  there  is  no  original  perversity  in  the 
human  heart,"  Rousseau  insists  that  "the  greatest, 
most  important,  and  most  useful  rule  of  all  education 
is,  not  to  gain  time,  but  to  lose  it."  .  .  .  "Early 
education  must,  therefore,  be  purely  negative.  It 
consists,  not  in  teaching  virtue  or  truth,  but  in  guard- 
ing the  heart  from  vice  and  the  mind  from  error.  If 
you  could  do  nothing,  and  allow  nothing  to  be  done ; 
if  you  could  guide  your  pupil,  healthy  and  robust,  to 
the  age  of  twelve  years,  without  his  being  able  to  dis- 
tinguish his  right  hand  from  his  left,  —  the  eyes  of  his 
understanding  would  open  to  reason  at  your  first  les- 
sons. Without  prejudices,  without  habits,  he  would 
have  nothing  to  counteract  the  effect  of  your  solici- 
tude. He  would  soon  become  in  your  hands  the 
wisest  of  men ;  and,  by  beginning  with  doing  nothing, 
you  would  have  made  a  prodigy  of  education."  .  .  . 
"Do  the  opposite  of  what  is  usually  done,  and  you 
will  always  do  well."  .  .  .  "Exercise  the  child's 
body,  his  organs,  his  senses,  his  strength;  but  keep 
his  mind  indolent  as  long  as  possible."  .  .  .     "Look 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES        123 

upon  all  delays  as  advantages  ...  let  childhood 
ripen  in  children."  ...  "If  a  lesson  has  to  be 
given,  do  not  give  it  to-day,  if  it  can  be  put  off  till 
to-morrow." 

This  is  what  Rousseau  calls  natyjal  edutJSfionJ^^t 
it  is,  in  fact,  almost  the  most  artificial  education  con- 
ceivable. It  is  cloistral  and  worse.  Nature  is  made 
to  exclude  its  highest  manifestations,  and  then  the 
child,  instead  of  being  allowed  to  come  freely  in  con- 
tact with  the  brute  remainder,  is  watched,  dogged, 
guided,  and  forcibly  controlled  at  every  step;  and  all 
for  the  sake  of  keeping  him  in  a  condition  of  sub- 
moral,  sub-human  innocence.  Rousseau  forgot  that 
a  child^s  capacity  for  enjoyment  even  is  proportioned 
to  his  intelligence;  and  so,  while  he  maintained  that 
a  child  should  not  be  deprived  of  present,  for  the  sake 
of  future,  pleasure,  for  fear  that  the  latter  might 
never  come,  he  insisted  that  he  should  be  deprived  of 
present,  for  the  sake  of  future,  instruction,  though 
the  latter  is  subject  to  the  same  risks.  But  Rousseau 
thought  of  his  own  early  corruption,  and  (despised 
logip.  We  have  only  to  compare  the  twelve -year-old 
American  boy,  who,  mixing  freely  with  Nature,  in 
its  broadest  sense,  contrives,  by  pluck,  intelligence, 
and  cloisterless  self-control,  to  earn  his  own,  and  per- 
haps others',  livelihood,  with  Rousseau's  helpless, 
ar^cial  product,  to  realize  the  value  of  his  educa- 
tional systemO 

" But  where, "  say s  Rousseau,  "shall  we  place  this 
child,  in  order  to  rear  him  thus,  like  an  insensible 
being,  an  automaton?  Shall  we  keep  him  in  the 
moon?     Or  in  a  desert  island?     Shall  we  remove  him 


124  ROUSSEAU 

from  human  kind?  Will  he  not  have  continually 
before  him,  in  the  world,  the  spectacle  and  example 
of  others'  passions?  Will  he  never  see  other  children 
of  his  own  age?  Will  he  not  see  his  relations,  nurse, 
governess,  footman,  and  even  his  tutor,  who,  after  all, 
will  not  be  an  angel  ?  "  Rousseau  feels  the  difficulty 
of  these  questions,  and  answers  that  the  tutor  must 
do  his  best  to  be  an  angel,  and  then  retire,  with  his 
pupil,  to  a  remote  country  village,  where,  by  inspir- 
ing the  villagers  with  respect  and  affection,  he  can 
practically  control  everybody  and  everything,  and  be 
beyond  reach  of  the  evil  influence  of  cities.  In  this 
retreat,  the  child,  entirely  in  the  hands  of  his  unpaid 
tutor,  and  dependent  on  his  resources  for  everything, 
will  vegetate,  and  learn  what  he  cannot  help,  by  ex- 
amples. When  he  sees  a  peasant  angry,  he  will  be 
told  that  he  is  ill,  and  thus  learn  to  avoid  anger. 
When  he  plants  beans  in  a  peasant's  melon-patch,  and, 
after  he  has  spent  much  care  on  them,  the  peasant 
comes  and  pulls  them  up,  "the  heart-broken  child 
will  fill  the  air  with  sobs  and  screams,"^  and  have 
his  first  feeling  of  injustice.*  On  learning,  however, 
that  the  peasant  has  only  done  to  him  what  he  has 
first  done  to  the  peasant,  and  that,  besides,  the  land 
belongs  to  the  peasant,  he  will  come  to  have  a  feeling 
of  justice.  One  of  the  tutor's  chief  duties  will  be  to 
arrange  for  practical  lessons  of  this  sort.  If  the  pupil 
breaks  a  pane  of  glass  in  his  room,  the  tutor  will  say 

1  Is  this  one  of  the  results  of  * '  peaceful ' '  Nature-education  ? 

2  This  is  incorrect.  He  would  feel  merely  disappointment,  not 
even  resentment.  The  catastrophe  might  be  due  to  "Nature,"  for 
aught  he  knew.    There  are  no  feelings  of  justice  and  injustice. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         125 

nothing,  but  leave  it  unrepaired  until  the  pupil  catches 
a  violent  cold/  and  then  have  it  replaced.  If  he 
breaks  it  a  second  time,  the  tutor  will  remove  him  to 
a  dark  room,  and  shut  him  up  there,  until  he  volun- 
tarily agrees  to  break  no  more  panes. .  How  this  dif- 
fers from  punishment,  it  is  not  easy  to  see.^  Rousseau 
evidently  thinks  that  moral  feelings  can  be  roused  in 
a  child  by  bringing  home  to  him  the  consequences  of 
his  deeds.  There  is  no  greater  mistake  in  the  world.* 
A  child  may  learn  selfish  prudence  in  this  way ;  but 
the  morality  of  acts  has  nothing  to  do  with  their 
actual  consequences,  but  only  with  their  motives,  or 
intended  consequences.  An  immoral  act  does  not 
become  moral,  because  it  brings  desirable  conse- 
quences. Even  brute  beasts  learn  prudence  by  Rous- 
seau^s  moral  method;  but  they  never  rise  to  morality. 
All  the  morality  there  is  connected  with  an  act  is 
realized,  as  a  personal  quality,  before  the  performance 
of  the  act. 

With  the  rise  of  the  moral  consciousness  comes  the 
possibility  of  evil,  and,  among  other  things,  of  lying, 
with  a  view  to  escape  consequences.  Rousseau  justly 
distinguishes  two  kinds  of  lies:  (1)  intentional  mis- 
statements of  facts ;  (2)  promises  not  intended  to  be 
kept ;  and  he  has  some  sensible  remarks  about  what 
lying  means  to  young  children ;  but,  when  he  tells  us 
that  "  trying  to  teach  them  to  tell  the  truth  is  simply 
teaching  them  to  lie,"  those  who  have  had  experience 

1  This  result  is  purely  arbitrary,  depending  not  only  on  the  sea- 
son, but  upon  the  position  of  the  child's  bed. 

2  In  any  case,  he  is  not  being  educated  by  Nature. 

3  Herbert  Spencer's  work  on  education  is  vitiated  throughout  by 
this  error. 


126  ROUSSEAU 

with  children  can  only  express  utter  disagreement 
with  him.  Again,  when  he  tells  us  that  the  true  way 
to  cure  a  child  of  lying  is  to  make  him  see  that  it  is 
not  his  interest  to  lie,  we  can  only  say  that  he  is  pro- 
pounding a  most  immoral  and  pernicious  doctrine  — 
albeit  it  is  of  a  piece  with  his  whole  ethical  teaching. 
A  child  that  tells  the  truth  only  when  he  thinks  it 
profitable  so  to  do,  will  tell  lies  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. Lying  is  simply  one  manifestation  of 
cowardice,  or  feebleness  of  will,  as  against  undiffer- 
entiated instinct,  and  can  be  cured  only  by  a  process 
which  strengthens  the  will,  by  the  development  of 
intelligence,  and  the  subjection  of  instinct.  But 
Kousseau's  whole  system  is  intended  to  enable  men  to 
dispense  with  the  need  of  willing,  by  arranging  things 
so  that  they  shall  always  be  able  to  follow  their  in- 
stincts —  as  he  did ! 

Generosity,  meaning  almsgiving,  is  to  be  taught  in 
this  way :  "  Instead  of  being  in  haste  to  exact  acts  of 
charity  from  my  pupil,  I  prefer  to  perform  them  in 
his  presence,  and  to  deprive  him  of  the  means  of  imi- 
tating me  in  that,  as  an  honor  that  does  not  belong  to 
his  age."  .  .  .  "If,  seeing  me  assist  the  poor,  he 
questions  me  about  it,  and  it  is  the  proper  time  to 
reply,  I  shall  say  to  him:  'My  friend,  when  the  poor 
agreed  that  there  should  be  rich  people,  the  rich  prom- 
ised to  maintain  all  those  who  should  not  have  the 
means  of  living,  either  from  their  property,  or  their 
labor.'  ^  'And  you  also  have  promised  that?  '  he  will 
ask.  'Of  course  (I  will  say);  I  am  master  of  the 
wealth  that  passes  through  my  hands,  only  on  the 

^  This  is,  of  course,  a  pious  lie. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         127 

condition  attached  to  owning  it.'  After  hearing  these 
words  .  .  .  another  than  Emile  would  be  tempted  to 
imitate  me,  and  play  the  rich  man;  in  such  case,  I 
should  at  least  prevent  him  from  doing  so  with  osten- 
tation. I  should  prefer  to  have  him  usurp  my  right, 
and  give  surreptitiously.  This  is  a  fraud  natural  to 
his  age,  and  the  only  one  I  should  forgive  in  him.'' 
In  other  words,  Emile  would  not  give  at  all,  or  give 
through  vanity,  as  a  rich  man! 

Rousseau  admits  that  all  virtues  acquired  in  this 
way  are  merely  monkey  virtues,  unreflective  imita- 
tions, and  therefore  not  moral;  and,  though  fully 
conscious  of  the  possible  evils  springing  from  imita- 
tion, he  yet  insists  that  no  other  virtues  are  possible 
for  the  child.  In  this,  he  modestly  makes  his  own 
nature  the  measure  of  possibility  for  the  race. 

The  only  moral  lesson  that  he  would  teach  children 
is  "to  do  harm  to  nobody.  The  injunction  to  do 
good,  unless  subordinate  to  this,  is  dangerous,  false, 
and  contradictory.  Who  is  there  that  does  no  good  ? 
The  wicked  man  does  good,  like  other  people;  he 
makes  one  happy  by  making  a  hundred  unhappy ;  and 
hence  come  all  our  calamities.  The  loftiest  virtues 
are  negative ;  they  are  also  the  most  diflB.cult,  because 
they  are  without  show,  and  above  the  pleasure,  so 
dear  to  the  heart  of  man,  of  knowing  that  some  one 
else  is  pleased  with  us."  This  is,  of  course,  the  purest 
sophistry  —  as  if  doing  good  to  one,  at  the  expense  of 
a  hundred,  were  doing  good  at  all !  The  precept.  Do 
good,  includes  the  precept.  Do  no  evil.  But  Rous- 
seau always  wanted  a  plea  for  doing  nothing,  and  he 
was  not  above  resorting  to  the  most  pitiful  sophistry 


128  ROUSSEAU 

in  order  to  obtain  one  —  as,  for  instance,  in  his  at- 
tempt to  justify  himself  for  turning  his  children  over 
to  the  foundling  hospital.^  The  fact  here  referred 
to  must  be  allowed  to  have  its  full  weight  in  our  esti- 
mate of  Rousseau's  educational  theories.     It  shows 

(1)  that  he  had  no  natural  love  for  children,  and  no 
interest  in  them  —  except,  of  course,  a  picturesque 
one:   they  were  touching   features   in  a  landscape; 

(2)  that,  while  devoted  to  sensuality,  he  had  no  sense 
of  even  the  most  sacred  of  duties.  Hence  his  at- 
tempt to  show  that  the  most  sublime  virtues  are 
negative  —  a  most  comfortable  doctrine,  amounting  ta 
this:  (Do  nothing,  and  you  will  do  sublimely  well.r 
From  this  maxim  E-ousseau  drew  the  following  con-' 
elusion,  whose  bearing  is  but  too  obvious:  "The  in- 
junction never  to  injure  others,  involves  the  injunction 
to  have  as  little  to  do  with  society  as  possible;  for  in 
the  social  state,  the  good  of  one  is  necessarily  the  evil 
of  another.  This  relation  being  in  the  essence  of  the 
thing,  nothing  can  alter  it."* 

It  is  impossible  here  to  enumerate  all  the  educa- 
tional precepts  that  Bousseau,  from  this  point  of  view, 
lays  down;  but  they  may  be  summed  up  under  three 
general  heads :  (1)  Do  everything  to  place  children  in 
easy,  fearless  contact  with  sub-human  nature  and  its 

1  Confessions,  Bks.  VII.,  VIII. 

2  Then  follows  the  second  quotation  at  the  head  of  Chapter  V. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  assertion  itself  is  the  exact  opposite 
of  the  truth,  and  subversive  of  all  civilization.  Cf.  Lowell's  fine 
line  in  The  Present  Crisis : 

"  In  the  gain  or  loss  of  one  race,  all  the  rest  have  equal  claim," 

and  Creon's  first  speech  in  Sophocles'  Antigone. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         129 

necessary  laws ;  that  is,  make  them,  as  far  as  possible, 
automata;  ^  (2)  Do  everything  to  prevent  their  having 
any  relations  to  human  nature,  as  such,  by  with- 
drawing them,  as  far  as  possible,  from  society,  and 
turning  those  persons  with  whom  they  must  come  in 
contact  into  automata ;  (3)  Hoodwink  them  into  think- 
ing that  everything  which  you,  as  the  representative 
of  Nature,  desire  them  to  do,  is  imposed  by  natural 
necessity.^ 

In  accordance  with  the  first  of  these,  children  are 
to  have  their  muscles,  nerves,  and  senses  carefully 
trained,  in  savage  fashion.  They  are  to  be  encour- 
aged, or  bribed,^  to  run,  leap,  climb,  balance  them- 
selves,   and  to  move  heavy   masses.     They  are   to 

1  Cf.  quotation  on  p.  123. 

2  "Are  not  all  his  surroundings,  as  far  as  they  relate  to  him,  under 
your  control?"  ...  "Of  course,  he  must  do  only  what  he  wishes ; 
but  he  must  wish  only  what  you  wish  him  to  do.  He  must  take  no 
step  that  you  have  not  foreseen,  nor  open  his  mouth  without  your 
knowing  beforehand  what  he  is  going  to  say." — j^mile,  Bk.  U. 
Such  is  Education  according  to  Nature !  Rousseau's  long  intimacy 
with  the  Jesuits  had  not  been  for  nothing.  Their  cadaver  is  Rous- 
seau's automaton ;  and  his  methods  match  theirs.  Grimm  said  of 
him:  "  I  know  but  one  man  who  might  have  written  an  apology 
for  the  Jesuits  in  fine  style  .  .  .  and  that  man  is  M.  Rousseau." 
After  all,  a  God-animated  corpse  is  better  than  an  automaton. 
But  neither  has  any  moral  freedom. 

3  Chiefly  with  cakes  and  candy,  of  which  Rousseau  himself  waa 
very  fond.  "  The  proper  way  to  govern  children,"  he  says,  "  is  to 
guide  them  by  the  mouth.  Gluttony,  as  a  motive,  is,  of  all  things, 
preferable  to  vanity,  because  the  former  is  a  natural  appetite, 
directly  connected  with  the  senses,  whereas  the  latter  is  the  prod- 
uct of  opinion,  subject  to  human  caprice  and  all  sorts  of  abuses." 
This  is,  of  course,  untrue.  Darwin  has  shown  that  vanity  is  a 
common  passion  even  among  the  lower  animals,  while  Rousseau 
himself  maintains  that  the  animals  are  never  gluttonous,  —  which 
again  is  untrue ! 

K 


130  ROUSSEAU 

swim,^  to  go  about  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  in 
light,  loose,  gay  clothing;  to  sleep  on  a  hard  bed;  to 
be  waked  up  at  any  hour;  to  be  inured  to  heat,  cold, 
knocks,  and  bruises;  to  eat  when  they  are  hungry,  and 
drink  when  they  are  thirsty  —  cold  water,  even  when 
they  are  in  a  flood  of  perspiration.  They  are  to  play 
nightly  games,  involving  lonely  visits  to  forests, 
churches,  and  graveyards ;  they  are  to  walk,  and  to 
find  things,  in  the  dark,  without  fear  or  hesitation.* 
They  are  not  to  be  vaccinated,  because  vaccination, 
though  bringing  certain  advantages,  requires  the  ser- 
vices of  a  physician  —  which  must  be  avoided  like 
poison.*  Riding  is  not  favored,  because  it  is  an  exer- 
cise not  within  the  reach  of  everybody.  Besides, 
Kousseau  himself  disliked  it.  The  different  senses 
are  to  be  carefully  cultivated.  "To  exercise  the 
senses  is  not  merely  to  make  use  of  them,  but  to 
learn  to  judge  by  means  of  them,  to  learn,  so  to 
speak,  to  feel;  for  we  can  neither  touch,  see,  nor 
hear,  except  as  we  have  learnt."  In  exercising  the 
sense  of  touch,  the  nocturnal  games,  above  referred 
to,  are  especially  valuable ;  they  may  even  enable  us 

1  "  Emile  will  be  as  much  at  home  in  the  water  as  on  land.  Why 
cannot  he  live  in  all  the  elements  ?  If  he  could  be  taught  to  fly  in 
the  air,  I  should  make  him  an  eagle ;  I  should  make  him  a  sala- 
mander, if  he  could  be  inured  to  fire." 

2  They  are  to  be  tempted  to  this,  as  usual,  with  candy!  In  this 
way,  their  natural  dread  of  the  dark  is  to  be  overcome.  And  yet 
we  are  told  that  *•  the  caprice  of  children  is  never  the  work  of  Na- 
ture, but  of  bad  discipline :  they  have  either  obeyed  or  commanded." 

3  "  If  we  give  a  child  small-pox,  we  shall  have  the  advantage  of 
foreseeing  and  foreknowing  his  disease;  but  if  he  takes  it  natu- 
rally, we  shall  have  saved  him  from  the  doctor,  which  is  a  still 
greater  advantage." 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES        131 

to  dispense  with  the  senses  of  sight  and  hearing  — 
apparently  a  great  advantage.^  The  use  of  keyless 
stringed  instruments  dulls  the  sense  of  touch.  The 
ideal  instrument  is  the  piano  —  which  Kousseau  him- 
self played!  Numerous  instructions  are  given  as  to 
how  the  eye  is  to  be  trained  to  estimate  weights,  dis- 
tances, etc.  Some  of  the  exercises  are  delightfully 
complicated,  involving  the  inevitable  candy,  which, 
though  rather  a  civilized  product,  seems  to  be  Nature's 
bribe.  This  is  the  place  for  drawing  and  painting; 
but  the  objects  selected  must  always  be  in  Nature, 
never  copies  or  casts. ^  In  connection  with  all  this, 
Rousseau  has  some  admirable  observations  upon  the 
way  in  which  the  notion  of  space  is  acquired,  although  ^ 
there  is  a  sad  want  of  close  thinking  displayed  in  the 
delightful  remark  that  "the  whole  universe  can  be 
only  a  point  for  an  oyster."  It  would  not  even  be  a 
point;  for  a  point  is  a  very  complicated  conception, 

1  "We  are  blind  half  our  lives,  with  this  difference,  that  those 
who  are  really  blind  can  always  guide  themselves,  while  we  do  not 
venture  to  take  a  step  into  the  heart  of  the  night.  There  are  lan- 
terns, I  shall  be  told.  Yes,  yes!  always  machines!  Who  can 
assure  you  that  they  will  follow  you  everywhere  when  you  want 
them?  I  prefer  that  ;^mile  should  have  eyes  in  the  ends  of  his 
fingers  rather  than  in  the  chandler's  shop."  ...  "By  putting 
one  hand  upon  the  body  of  a  violoncello,  one  may,  without  the 
help  of  eyes  or  ears,  distinguish,  by  the  mere  vibration  or  quiver- 
ing of  the  wood,  whether  the  sound  produced  is  high  or  low."  .  .  . 
"If  we  would  exercise  our  senses  on  these  differences,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  in  time  one  might  feel  a  whole  tune  with  his  fingers. 
If  this  be  admitted,  it  follows  that  we  might  speak  to  the  deaf  in 
music."    But  alas  !  the  violoncello  is  a  machine,  M.  Rousseau! 

2  ;^mile's  room  is  to  be  adorned  with  his  own  drawings  and 
paintings,  placed  in  more  and  more  elaborate  frames  in  propor- 
tion to  their  badness.  Thus  the  expression,  "  fit  for  a  gilt  frame," 
is  to  suggest  a  moral  lesson,  valuable  later  on. 


132  ROUSSEAU 

involving  the  consciousness  of  space.  For  cultivating 
the  sense  of  form,  practical  geometry,  a  matter  of 
strings  and  cut  paper,  is  recommended.  Reasoned 
geometry  is,  of  course,  forbidden. 

For  training  the  sense  of  hearing  there  are  various 
means,  chief  among  which  is  music.  This,  being  a 
favorite  occupation  with  Rousseau,  is  allowed  the  use 
of  civilized  instruments.  Taste,  with  which  smell  is 
closely  connected,  is  to  be  cultivated  by  the  use  of 
simple,  natural  food.  "The  Supreme  Goodness, 
which  has  made  the  pleasure  of  sensible  beings  the 
instrument  of  their  preservation,  shows  us,  by  what 
pleases  our  palates,  what  is  suitable  for  our  stomachs. 
When  Nature  is  allowed  her  way,  there  is  no  safer 
physician  for  a  man  than  his  own  appetite.  In  his 
primitive  state,  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  foods  which 
he  found  most  pleasant  were  also  the  most  whole- 
some." Gluttony,  being  natural,  is  excused  in  this 
way.  "  Since  the  whole  of  childhood  is,  or  ought  to 
be,  merely  a  succession  of  games  and  gleesome  amuse- 
ments, I  do  not  see  why  pure  bodily  exercises  should 
not  have  a  material  and  sensible  prize."  On  the  same 
principle,  mental  exercises  ought  to  be  rewarded  with 
an  abstract  triangle,  a  fair  Platonic  idea,  or  a  pleas- 
ant aspect  of  transcendental  being!  But  of  such 
exercises  he  does  not  approve.  Singularly  enough, 
Rousseau,  who  professes  to  give  directions  for  rearing 
children  in  a  state  of  Nature,  maintains  that  they 
should  not  be  allowed  to  touch  animal  food,  which, 
if  not  bad  for  health,  is  bad  for  character.  "It  is 
certain  that  great  meat-eaters  are,  generally,  more 
cruel  and  fierce  than  other  men."  .  .  .     "The  bar- 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         133 

barity  of  the  English  is  well  known,  whereas  the 
Gaures  are  the  gentlest  of  men.  All  savages  are  cruel, 
and  this  is  not  due  to  their  character,  but  to  their 
food."  This  is  one  of  those  delicious  inconsistencies 
of  which  Eousseau  is  full.  The  truth  is  that,  for 
him,  savage  and  Jean  Jacques  meant  the  same  thing, 
and  of  that  thing  he  has  a  very  good  opinion.  He  says, 
elsewhere,  that  savages,  "known  for  their  keen  sensi- 
bility, are  still  more  so  for  their  subtlety  of  mind." 
But  the  gentle  savage,  Jean  Jacques,  did  not  like 
meat,  and  so  that  must  be  a  perversion  of  savagery. 
His  assertion,  moreover,  that  the  savage,  "  having  no 
prescribed  task,  obeying  no  law  but  his  own  will,  is 
forced  to  reason  at  every  action  of  his  life,"  only 
shows  that  he  knew  nothing  of  real  savage  life. 

In  pursuance  of  the  second  maxim,  children  are  to 
receive  no  instruction  that  would  carry  them  beyond 
the  range  of  their  own  actual  sense-experience,  or 
even  to  reason  to  the  conditions  of  that  experience. 
Every  kind  of  instruction  drawing  upon  the  pas£  or 
present  experience  of  the  race  —  History,  Geography, 
Grammar,  Languages,  Literature  (even  La  Fontaine^s 
Fables),  Science  —  is  to  be  excluded.  There  is  to  be 
no  learning  by  heart,  no  declamation,  no  examination, 
no  verbal  expression  of  knowledge.  "Emile  will  not 
chatter,  he  will  act."  All  efforts  at  cleverness  and 
bright  remarks,  all  talkativeness,  must  be  frowned 
down.  Books  are  to  be  tabooed.  *"  By  removing  all 
the  duties  of  children,"  says  Rousseau,  "I  remove  the 
instruments  of  their  greatest  misery,  namely,  books. 
Reading  is  curse  of  childhood,^  and  almost  the  only 

^  This  is  not  true ;  but  Rousseau  read  bad  books. 


134  ROUSSEAU 

occupation  that  people  can  invent  for  it.  At  twelve 
years  of  age,  fimile  will  hardly  know  what  a  book  is. 
But,  I  shall  be  told,  he  must  at  least  know  how  to 
read,  when  reading  is  useful  to  him."  ...  "If  we 
must  demand  nothing  of  children  through  obedience, 
it  follows  that  they  can  learn  nothing  of  which  they 
do  not  feel  the  actual  present  advantage,  in  the  form 
either  of  pleasure  or  of  use :  otherwise,  what  motive 
should  prompt  them  to  learn  it  ?  The  art  of  talking 
and  listening  to  absent  friends  ...  is  an  art  that 
can  be  rendered  sensible  to  human  beings  at  any  age. 
By  what  miracle  has  this  useful  and  pleasant  art 
become  a  torment  to  children  ?  Because  we  force 
them  to  apply  themselves  to  it  against  their  wills, 
and  put  it  to  uses  of  which  they  understand  n9thing. 
A  child  is  never  very  eager  to  perfect  the  instrument 
with  which  he  is  tortured.  But  make  this  instrument 
minister  to  his  pleasures,  and  he  will  soon  apply  him- 
self to  it  in  spite  of  you.''  .  .  .  "The  present  inter- 
est is  the  great  motive,  and  the  only  one  that  leads 
safely  and  far.  fimile  sometimes  receives  from  his 
father,  mother,  relatives,  friends,^  notes  of  invitation 
for  a  dinner,  a  walk,  a  boating-party,  a  public  festi- 
val. These  notes  are  short,  clear,  neat,  and  well 
written.  Some  one  must  be  found  to  read  them. 
This  some  one  is  not  found  at  the  right  moment,  or 
pays  the  child  out  for  some  disobliging  conduct  of 
the  day  before.  Thus  the  opportunity,  the  moment, 
passes.  The  note  is  at  last  read  to  him ;  but  it  is  too 
late!     Oh!  if  he  had  only  been  able  to  read  himself! 

1  N.B.  Emile  is  supposed  to  be  an  orphan,  and  to  live  apart  from 
society. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         135 

Others  are  received:  they  are  so  short;  the  subject 
of  them  is  so  interesting;  he  would  like  to  decipher 
them;  sometimes  he  finds  help  and  sometimes  a  re- 
fusal. He  exerts  himself  and  finally  deciphers  half 
of  a  note :  it  is  an  invitation  to  go  to-morrow  to  eat 
cream  —  he  does  not  know  where  or  with  whom. 
How  he  struggles  to  read  the  rest!"  .  .  .  "Shall  I 
speak  now  of  writing  ?  No;  I  am  ashamed  to  amuse 
myself  with  such  nonsense  in  a  treatise  on  education." 
This  is  a  typical  specimen  of  Rousseau's  natural 
method,  which,  assuming  that  the  child  has  only 
animal  motives,  makes  no  eifort  to  correct  or  replace 
them.  What  notion  of  man  and  society  would  be 
suggested  to  a  child,  if  the  people  about  him,  in  order 
to  be  eyen  with  him,  —  poor  little  animal !  —  should 
refuse  to  read  a  note  for  him?  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
it  would  be  both  hateful  and  false,  —  in  fact,  Rous- 
seau's own  diseased  notion  (see  p.  74).  For  Rousseau 
hated  the  human  in  humanity:  he  hated  science,^ 
true  love,  and  energy  of  will,  being  incapable  of  all 

1  He  says :  *'  I  teach  my  pupil  a  very  long  and  very  painful  art  — 
the  art  of  being  ignorant ;  for  the  science  of  any  one  who  does  not 
flatter  himself  that  he  knows  more  than  he  really  does  know,  re- 
duces itself  to  very  small  bulk."  The  martyrdom  of  study  is 
described  in  these  affecting  terms:  "The  clock  strikes.  What  a 
change !  In  an  instant,  his  eye  loses  its  lustre ;  his  gayety  van- 
ishes. Good-bye  to  joy!  good-bye  to  gleesome  games!  A  severe,  ill- 
tempered  man  takes  him  by  the  hand,  and  gravely  says  to  him : 
'Let  us  go,  sir,'  and  leads  him  away.  In  the  room  which  they 
enter,  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  books.  Books!  what  sad  furniture  for 
his  age  !  The  poor  child  submits  to  being  dragged  along,  turns  a 
regretful  eye  upon  everything  about  him,  holds  his  peace,  and  goes 
off,  his  eyes  swollen  with  tears  which  he  dare  not  shed,  and  his 
heart  big  with  sighs  which  he  dare  not  give  vent  to."  It  is  needless 
to  comment  on  such  stuff ! 


136  ROUSSEAU 

three.  Hence  he  deprecated  all  culture  of  intellect, 
affection,  and  will,  of  all  that  makes  man,  life,  and 
the  world  human. 

Of  the  third  maxim  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that,  ac- 
cording to  Eousseau,  children  are  to  be  so  managed 
that  what  is,  in  reality,  the  result  of  the  most  careful 
forethought,  shall  seem  natural  and  necessary;  in 
other  words,  that  they  shall,  from  first  to  last,  be  vic- 
tims of  a  pious  fraud.  By  means  of  this,  the  child  is 
to  be  dehumanized,  to  be  made  a  victim  and  a  dupe. 
How  small  must  his  intelligence  and  his  observation 
be,  to  make  such  dupery  possible! 


CHAPTER  VII 
ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES 

Boyhood 

(j^mi7c,  Bk.  III.) 

I  slept  and  dreamt  that  life  was  Beauty : 
I  Woke  and  found  that  life  was  Duty. 

When  a  boy  has  learnt  his  letters  and  is  beginning  to  under- 
stand what  is  written,  as  before  he  understood  only  what  was 
spoken,  they  put  into  his  hands  the  works  of  great  poets,  which 
he  reads  at  school ;  in  these  are  contained  .  .  .  the  encomia  of 
ancient  famous  men,  which  he  is  required  to  learn  by  heart,  in 
order  that  ...  he  may  desire  to  become  like  them. 

Plato,  Protagoras. 

RoussEAu*s  solitary  pupil  reaches  the  age  of  twelve 
years  without  having  learnt  to  do  anything  but  play. 
In  playing,  he  has  exercised  his  muscles,  nerves,  and 
senses.  He  has  no  knowledge  of  man;  he  does  not 
reason;  his  sole  motive  is  sensuous  pleasure.  But  he 
is  supple,  alert,  healthy,  and  docile,  like  a  well-trained 
young  dog.  Moreover,  he  is  exuberantly  happy, 
because  his  strength  is  far  in  advance  of  his  needs, 
and  because  the  absorbing  passion  of  manhood  has  not 
yet  awakened  in  him.  Thus  the  years  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  form  a  period  of  altogether  exceptional  free 
energy,  which  must  be  seized  upon  and  directed  — 
surreptitiously,  of  course  —  to  the  best  ends,  as  Rous- 

137 


138  ROUSSEAU 

seau  conceives  them.  This,  in  fact,  is  the  time  to 
cultivate  the  "sixth  sense,  which  is  called  common 
sense,  not  so  much  because  it  is  common  to  all  men, 
as  because  it  results  from  the  well-regulated  use  of 
the  other  senses,  and  because  it  instructs  us  in  the 
nature  of  things,  through  the  convergence  of  all  their 
appearances."  "This  sense,"  he  continues,  "has  no 
special  organ.  It  resides  solely  in  the  brain;  and  its 
sensations,  which  are  purely  internal,  are  called  per- 
ceptions or  ideas.  It  is  by  the  number  of  these  ideas 
that  the  extent  of  our  knowledge  is  measured;  it  is 
their  definiteness  and  clearness  that  constitutes  cor- 
rectness of  thinking;  it  is  the  art  of  comparing  them 
that  we  call  human  reason.  Thus,  what  I  called  sen- 
sitive, or  childish,  reason  consists  in  forming  simple 
ideas,  by  the  union  of  several  sensations ;  and  what  I 
call  intellectual  or  human  reason  consists  in  forming 
complex  ideas,  by  the  union  of  several  simple  ideas." 
It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  comment  upon  this  crude, 
sensuous,  chemical  psychology.  To  have  been  con- 
demned to  it  was  the  penalty  paid  by  Kousseau  for 
his  superficial  acquaintance  with  philosophy,  and  his 
contempt  for  it. 

At  this  stage  in  their  career,  boys  are  still  to  be 
guided  by  immediate,  sensuous  interests.  Moral  mo- 
tives are  to  play  no  part.  The  subjects  suitable  for 
study  are  few.  Of  the  departments  of  knowledge 
within  our  reach,  some  are  false,  others  useless,  others 
only  minister  to  the  conceit  of  their  possessors.  The 
few  that  really  contribute  to  our  well-being  are  alone 
worthy  of  the  attention  of  a  wise  man,  and  therefore 
of  a  child  whom  we  mean  to  turn  into  one.     Of  these 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         139 

few,  again,  those  must  be  excluded  which  demand  for 
their  study  a  developed  intelligence,  such,  for  example, 
as  those  dealing  with  the  relations  of  man  to  man. 
What  remains  is  the  experimental  natural  sciences, 
whose  objects  are  the  visible  heaven  and  earth.  Curi- 
osity now  supervenes  upon  bodily  restlessness,  as  a 
motive.  But  this  curiosity  is  no  mere  mental  or  spir- 
itual need  of  man's.  "The  innate  desire  for  well- 
being,  and  the  impossibility  of  completely  satisfying 
it,  make  him  continually  seek  for  new  means  of  con- 
tributing to  it.  Such  is  the  first  principle  of  curi- 
osity, a  principle  natural  to  the  human  heart  (!),  but 
one  whose  development  strictly  keeps  pace  with  our 
passions  and  our  lights.^  Banish  a  philosopher  to  a 
desert  island,  with  instruments  and  books,  and  con- 
vince him  that  he  must  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life 
there :  he  will  hardly  trouble  himself  any  more  about 
the  system  of  the  world,  the  laws  of  attraction,  or  the 
differential  calculus.  He  will  perhaps  not  open  a 
book  again  in  his  life."  This  experiment,  whose 
result  is,  to  say  the  least,  very  doubtful,  suffices  to 
prove  to  Rousseau  that  these  studies  are  not  natural 
to  man :  therefore,  they  are  to  be  ruled  out. 

"  The  island  of  the  human  race  is  the  earth.  The 
object  that  most  strikes  our  eyes  is  the  sun.  As  soon 
as  we  turn  away  from  ourselves,  our  attention  must 
direct  itself  to  one  or  the  other."  Geography  and 
astronomy  are  therefore  now  in  order.  But  these  sub- 
jects are  not  to  be  taught  by  means  of  books,  maps, 

1  It  never  seems  to  have  dawned  for  an  instant  upon  Rousseau 
either  that  there  could  be  any  intellectual  needs  or  motives,  or  that 
there  was  any  value  in  a  developed  intelligence,  as  such. 


140  ROUSSEAU 

globes,  or  charts.  They  are  to  be  studied  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  objects  themselves,  and  that,  too,  in  the 
most  matter-of-fact  fashion.  No  feeling  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Nature's  sublimities  is  to  be  looked  for.  "  The 
child  perceives  objects;  but  he  cannot  perceive  their 
relations;  he  cannot  hear  the  sweet  harmony  of  their 
concert."  .  .  .  "How  shall  the  song  of  birds  cause 
him  a  voluptuous  emotion,  if  the  accents  of  love  and 
pleasure  are  still  unknown  to  him  ?  " 

Rousseau  reports  various  tricks  and  devices  for 
inducing  children  to  think  what  is  implied  in  such 
natural  phenomena  as  sunrise  and  sunset,  and  to 
represent  it  to  themselves  by  means  of  circles  and 
teetotums.  The  matter  of  geographical  study  is  to 
be  the  country  where  the  child  lives,  and  the  features 
of  this  he  is  to  draw  as  well  as  he  can.  He  is  to  be 
initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  magnetism  by  means 
of  wax  ducks,  modelled  about  a  magnetic  needle  and 
made  to  swim  about  after  a  magnet.  But  lest  he 
should  plume  himself  upon  this  new  and  strange  dis- 
covery, and  take  to  showing  it  off,  an  elaborate  con- 
spiracy is  entered  into  with  a  professional  magician 
to  humble  his  vanity,  by  trickery,  in  presence  of  an 
assembled  and  gaping  crowd;  and  the  poor  child, 
guilty  of  having  shown  one  natural  feeling,  is  once 
more  reduced  to  the  condition  of  a  marionette. 
Rousseau  congratulates  himself  on  the  result.  "  All 
the  detail  of  this  example  means  more  than  it  seems. 
How  many  lessons  in  one!  How  many  mortifying 
consequences  flow  from  the  first  movement  of  vanity ! 
Young  teacher,  carefully  watch  this  first  movement! 
If  you  can  make  it  produce  humiliation  and  disgrace 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         141 

in  this  way,  be  sure  it  will  be  long  before  a  second 
occurs.  What  elaborate  preparations!  you  will  say. 
I  agree  —  and  all  to  make  a  compass  to  take  the  place 
of  a  meridian."^  This  conspiracy  is  typical.  In  all 
cases  the  main  thing  is,  not  to  impart  knowledge  to 
the  child,  but  to  guard  him  against  the  formation  of 
false  ideas,  or  the  acceptance  of  any  that  do  not  grow 
out  of  his  own  individual  experience.  A  secret  effort 
may  be  made  to  secure  his  continuous  attention ;  but 
constraint  must  never  be  applied.  "  It  must  always 
be  pleasure  or  desire  that  produces  this  attention." 
...  "  It  is  always  of  less  importance  that  the  child 
should  learn  than  that  he  should  do  nothing  against 
his  inclination."  All  attempts  to  make  the  child  over- 
come his  inclinations,  in  favor  of  moral  action,  are  to 
be  avoided,  as  useless  and  denaturalizing. 

In  course  of  time  —  toward  the  age  of  fifteen !  —  the 
child  will  begin  to  grow  self-conscious,  to  know  what 
is  good  for  him,  and  to  seek  it.  His  good  is  simply 
sensuous  well-being,  without  moral  regard.  He  must 
now  be  induced  to  direct  his  mind  to  "useful  objects," 
and  the  notion  of  the  useful  must  now  become  his 
guiding  star.  He  is  to  study  nothing  which  he  does 
not  see  to  be  useful  for  his  own  special  sensuous  ends. 
These  are  to  be  the  limits  of  his  curiosity.  In  fact, 
he  is  to  be  carefully  trained  in  sordid  selfishness,  lest 
he  should  form  false  conceptions !  ^  If  a  child  trained 
in  this  way  should  express  doubts  regarding  the  use- 
fulness of  astronomy  to  him,  he  is  to  be  cured  of  them 

1  Quintilian  was  wiser  when  he  said :  "  Vanity  is  a  vice ;  but  it 
is  the  parent  of  many  virtues."    See  my  Aristotle,  p.  220. 
•'*  Compare  the  saying  of  Aristotle  in  my  Aristotle,  p.  189. 


142  ROUSSEAU 

in  this  way.  He  and  his  tutor  are  to  lose  themselves 
in  the  forest.  "  We  no  longer,"  says  Kousseau,  " know- 
where  we  are,^  and  when  the  time  comes  to  return, 
we  cannot  find  our  way.  The  time  passes ;  the  heat 
comes;  we  are  hungry j  we  hasten;  we  wander  vainly 
from  side  to  side."  .  .  .  "  Much  heated,  much  disap- 
pointed, very  hungry,  we  only  lose  ourselves  more  and 
more.  Finally,  we  sit  down,  not  to  rest,  but  to  de- 
liberate." .  .  .  "After  a  few  moments  of  silence, 
I  say  to  him,  in  an  anxious  tone,  'My  dear  fimile, 
how  are  we  to  get  out  of  this  ? '  "  ifimile,  "  dripping 
with  perspiration,  and  weeping  bitter  tears,"  replies, 
"*I  know  nothing  about  it.  I^m  tired;  I'm  hungry; 
I'm  thirsty;  I'm  all  used  up.'"  They  finally  look  at 
their  watches  (iSmile  carries  a  watch !)  and  find  that 
it  is  noon.  Knowing  that  their  home  is  to  the  south 
of  the  forest,  and  remembering  that  at  noon  the  sun 
casts  his  shadow  to  the  north,  they  thus  find  out  the 
direction  of  the  south,  and,  following  it,  are  soon  in 
sight  of  home.  Hereupon  ^fimile  shouts;  "Let  us 
breakfast!  let  us  dine!  let  us  run  quick !  Astronomy 
is  good  for  something."  Thus  he  learns  that  as- 
tronomy is  a  useful  science  —  useful  in  helping  a  big, 
tired,  hungry  cry-baby,  accompanied  by  his  tutor,  to 
find  his  way  home.  And  this  is  the  child  who  has 
been  reared  as  a  savage,  and  taught  to  bear  heat, 
cold,  hunger,  pain,  fatigue,  and  to  find  his  way  in 
the  dark! 

"  I  hate  books, "  says  Kousseau ;  "  they  only  teach 
us  to  talk  about  what  we  don't  know."  Nevertheless, 
fimile  is,  at  last,  to  learn  to  read.     Then  his  one  book 

^  Tliis,  of  course,  is  false  as  regards  the  tutor. 


KOUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIJpS  ..    143 


*  1 
*^^ 


is  to  be  —  Robinson  Crusoe;  and  the  reason  is  Ihis:  \ 
"Robinson  Crusoe,  alone  on  his  island,  deprived  of 
the  aid  of  his  fellow-men  and  of  the  instruments  of  all 
the  arts,  and,  nevertheless,  providing  for  his  own  sub- 
sistence and  protection,  and  even  attaining  a  certain 
sort  of  well-being,  is  an  interesting  object  for  any 
age,  and  may  be  rendered  attractive  to  children  in  a 
thousand  ways."  .  .  .  "This  state,  I  admit,  is  not 
that  of  the  social  man  .  .  .  but  it  is  by  this  salne 
state  that  he  must  value  all  the  rest.  The  surest  way 
to  rise  above  prejudice,  and  to  shape  one'*  judgment 
by  the  true  relations  of  things,  is  to  put  oneself  in  the 
place  of  the  isolated  man,  and  to  judge  all  things  as 
this  man,  having  regard  to  his  own  usefulness,  must 
judge  them."  £mile  will  be  fascinated  with  Robin- 
son Crusoe.  "I  want  him,"  says  Rousseau,  "to  losfe 
his  head  over  it,  to  be  continually  absorbed  by  His 
castle,  his  goats,  his  plantations;  to  learn  in  detail, 
not  by  books,  but.  by  things,  all  that  it  is  necessary 
to  know  in  such  a  case ;  to  imagine  that  he  is  Robin- 
son himself,  dressed  in  skins,  wearing  a  big  hat,  a, 
great  sabre,  and  all  the  grotesque  trappings  of  the 
figure,  except  the  parasol,  which  he  will  not  need. 
I  wish  him  to  be  anxious  about  what  he  would  do,  if 
this  or  that  should  happen  to  fail,  to  examine  his 
hero's  conduct,  to  see  if  he  has  omitted  anything,  or 
if  anything  could  be  done  better,  to  note  carefully  his 
faults,  and  to  profit  by  them,  so  as  not  to  commit 
similar  ones  j  for  you  may  be  sure  that  he  will  plan 
to  go  and  set  up  a  similar  establishment.  This  is  the 
real  air-castle  of  this  blessed  age,  when  one  knows  no 
other  happiness  than  necessities  and  freedom."     With 


144  ROUSSEAU 

these  childish  ^  thoughts  in  his  head,  he  will  be  eager 
to  learn  all  the  "natural  arts,"  that  is,  such  arts  as 
are  necessary  for  the  solitary  man.  He  must,  as  long 
as  possible,  be  prevented  from  taking  any  interest  in 
those  that  require  cooperation.  "You  see,"  says 
Rousseau,  "  thus  far  I  have  not  spoken  to  my  pupil 
about  men.  He  would  have  too  much  good  sense  to 
listen  to  me.  His  relations  with  his  kind  are  not  yet 
pronounced  enough  to  enable  him  to  judge  of  others 
by  himself.  He  knows  no  human  being  but  himself, 
and  himself  very  imperfectly;  but,  if  he  pronounces 
few  judgments  on  himself,  those  he  does  pronounce 
are,  at  least,  just.  He  knows  nothing  about  the  place 
of  others ;  but  he  feels  his  own,  and  keeps  himself  in 
it.  Instead  of  social  laws,  which  he  cannot  know, 
we  have  bound  him  with  chains  of  necessity.  He  is 
still  hardly  anything  more  than  a  physical  being  j  let 
us  continue  to  treat  him  as  such." 

With  regard  to  the  "  natural  arts  "  Kousseau  says : 
"  The  first  and  most  respectable  of  all  the  arts  is  agri- 
culture. I  should  give  blacksmithing  the  second 
place,  carpentry  the  third,  and  so  on."  Nevertheless, 
since  agriculture  is  incompatible  with  vagabond  free- 
dom, and  blacksmithing  untidy,  he  chooses  carpentry 
for  his  pupil.  "It  is  cleanly;  it  is  useful;  it  may  be 
carried  on  in  the  house;  it  calls  upon  the  workman 
for  dexterity  and  industry,  and  the  usefulness  of  its 
products  does  not  exclude  elegance  and  taste."  Rous- 
seau deprecates  all  crafts  that  are  unhealthy  or  effemi- 

1  Most  children  get  over  the  Robinson  Crusoe  stage  by  the  age 
of  seven,  Henry  Thoreau  was  a  notable  exception.  See  his  Wal- 
tkn,  and  cf.  Tennyson's  Enoch  Arden. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         145 

nate,  that  deform  the  body,  disgust  the  senses,  or  turn 
those  who  practise  them  into  automata  or  machines. 
On  the  other  hand,  "if  your  pupil's  genius  should 
show  a  decided  bent  for  the  speculative  sciences, 
then,"  he  says,  "I  should  not  object  to  his  being 
allowed  to  follow  a  craft  conformable  to  his  inclina- 
tions; to  his  learning,  for  example,  to  make  mathe- 
matical instruments,^  spectacles,  telescopes,  etc." 

Rousseau,  who  may  fairly  claim  the  honor  of  being 
the  father  of  manual  training,  would  have  every  child 
learn  a  trade,  and  on  this  subject  he  makes  some  very 
pungent  remarks.  In  reply  to  a  fond  mother  who 
exclaims:  "A  handicraft  for  my  son!  My  son  an 
artisan !  Do  you  think  of  such  a  thing,  Sir  ? "  he 
says,  "Madam,  I  think  better  than  you,  who  want 
to  reduce  him  to  a  state  in  which  he  can  never  be 
anything  but  a  lord,  a  marquis,  a  prince,^  and  perhaps 
some  day  less  than  nothing;  while  I  want  to  confer 
on  him  a  rank  which  he  cannot  lose,  a  rank  which 
shall  honor  him  at  all  times :  I  want  to  raise  him  to 
the  dignity  of  a  man,  and,  say  what  you  will,  he  will 
have  fewer  equals  in  that  rank  than  in  those  he  may 
inherit  from  you."  While  .admitting  that  the  isolated 
man  may  do  as  he  pleases,  he  insists  that  in  society 
everybody  must  work.     "Work  is  a  duty  indispen- 

1  Here  he  was  evidently  thinking  of  Spinoza. 
*  Cf .  Burns'  A  Man's  a  Man /or  a'  That :  — 

"  A  king  can  mak  a  belted  knicht, 
A  marquis,  duke,  an'  a'  that  ; 
But  an  honest  man's  abune  hismicht; 
Guid  faith !  he  mauna  fa'  that." 

Burns  derived  not  only  the  thought  of  this  poem,  but  many  other 
things,  good  and  evil,  from  Rousseau. 


146  ROUSSEAU 

sable  for  man  in  society.  Eich  or  poor,  strong  or 
weak,  the  citizen  who  does  not  work  is  a  scoundrel." 
And  manual  labor  is  to  be  preferred  to  every  other,  as 
affording  the  greatest  freedom.  "  Of  all  occupations 
fitted  to  yield  man  a  subsistence,  that  which  comes 
nearest  to  the  state  of  Nature  is  manual  toil;  of  all 
conditions,  the  most  independent  of  fortune  and  of 
men  is  that  of  the  artisan.  He  depends  only  on  his 
labor;  he  is  as  free  as  the  ploughman  is  bound;  for 
the  latter  is  tied  to  his  land,  whose  crop  is  at  the 
mercy  of  others."  ...  "By  means  of  this  land,  he 
may  be  harassed  in  a  thousand  ways ;  whereas,  if  an 
attempt  is  made  to  harass  an  artisan,  he  can  directly 
pull  up  his  stakes,  go  off,  and  take  his  two  arms  with 
him." 

In  learning  a  trade,  Emile  can  hardly  fail  to  realize 
that  cooperation  in  labor  is  valuable,  and  he  may  be 
allowed  to  make  some  reflections  on  this  matter,  and 
to  think  of  men  as  united  by  industrial  or  material 
ties,  whose  meaning  is  within  his  reach ;  but  no  effort 
must  be  made  to  make  him  understand  any  other  ties, 
since  he  has  not  the  experience  which  would  enable 
him  to  understand  them.  The  force  of  this  rule  we 
shall  see  later. 

In  connection  with  the  subject  of  industry,  Rousseau 
takes  occasion  to  air  some  of  his  economic  and  socio- 
logical doctrines;  and,  though  the  bearing  of  these 
upon  his  educational  theories  is  but  indirect,  it  is  no 
less  real  and  important  on  that  account.  We  must, 
therefore,  refer  to  them. 

According  to  Eousseau,  it  is  every  man's  first 
duty,  imposed  by  Nature,  to  live.     "  Since,  of  all  the 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         147 

aversions  with  which  Nature  inspires  us,  the  strongest 
is  the  aversion  to  die,  it  follows  that  Nature  allows  a 
man  to  do  anything  that  is  absolutely  necessary  to 
preserve  his  life.  The  principles  through  which  the 
virtuous  man  learns  to  despise  his  life,  and  sacrifice 
himself  to  his  duty,  are  far  removed  from  this  primi- 
tive simplicity.  Happy  the  peoples,  among  whom 
one  can  be  good  without  effort,  and  just  without 
virtue !  *  If  there  is  any  wretched  nation  in  the  world 
in  which  it  is  not  possible  for  every  citizen  to  live 
without  doing  wrong,  and  where  the  citizens  are 
rascals  from  necessity,  it  is  not  the  wrong-doer  that 
should  be  hanged,  but  he  who  forces  him  to  become 
such."  As  if  any  one  could  be  forced  to  do  wrong 
against  his  will !  This  illogical  and  immoral  doctrine 
has  made  dangerous  fanatics  without  number,  and 
encouraged  criminals  to  hold  society  responsible  for 
their  crimes.  It  has,  further,  led  to  numerous  at- 
tempts to  moralize  men  by  merely  altering  their  sur- 
roundings, when  the  true  method  would  have  been  to 
strengthen  their  wills  through  discipline,  and  to  teach 
them  that  life  without  virtue  is  worthless. 

Rousseau  is  opposed  to  inherited  wealth.  "The 
man  or  the  citizen,"  he  says,  "whoever  he  be,  has 
nothing  to  contribute  to  society  but  himself.  All  his 
other  goods  are  in  it  in  spite  of  him ;  and  when  a  man 
is  rich,  he  either  does  not  enjoy  his  wealth,  or  the 
public  enjoys  it  also.     In  the  former  case,  he  steals 

1  lu  other  words,  among  whom  goodness  and  justice  are  the 
result  of  blind  instinct,  and  not  of  progressive  moral  effort  or 
exertion  of  free  choice.  The  whole  of  Rousseau's  moral  theory  is 
here.  Having  himself  no  moral  will,  he  tried  to  prove  that  men 
might  be  virtuous  without  such  a  thing. 


148  ROUSSEAU 

from  others  what  he  deprives  himself  of;  in  the  latter, 
he  gives  them  nothing.  Thus  his  social  debt  remains 
altogether  undischarged,  until  he  pays  it  with  what  is 
his  own.  'But  my  father  earned  it,  as  an  equivalent 
for  services  rendered  to  society'  (yo^  will  say). 
Granted;  he  paid  his  debt,  but  not  yours.  You  owe 
more  to  others  than  if  you  had  been  born  penniless, 
because  you  were  born  favored.  It  is  not  just  that 
what  one  man  has  done  for  society  should  relieve 
another  from  the  debt  which  he  owes  it ;  for  every  one, 
owing  his  entire  self  to  it,  can  pay  only  for  himself, 
and  no  father  can  bequeath  to  his  son  the  right  to  be 
useless  to  his  fellows ;  and  yet  this  is  what,  according 
to  you,  he  does  by  bequeathing  to  him  his  wealth, 
which  is  the  proof  and  price  of  his  labor.  He  who 
eats  in  idleness  what  he  has  not  himself  earned,  steals 
it;  and  a  bondholder,  whom  the  state  pays  for  doing 
nothing,  hardly  differs,  in  my  eyes,  from  a  highway 
robber  who  lives  at  the  expense  of  travellers."  This 
specious  nonsense,  which  contains  the  germs  of  the 
worst  forms  of  socialism,  derives  its  entire  force  from 
the  fact  that  Rousseau,  while  granting  a  continuous 
personality  to  society,  denies  it  to  the  family.  But, 
surely,  if  society  has  a  right  to  bequeath  to  future 
generations  what  it  obtains  through  an  exchange,  the 
family,  when  it  is  the  other  party  to  the  transaction, 
cannot  be  denied  the  same  right.  Such  transmission 
does  not  remove  wealth  from  society,  and  the  mere 
possession  of  wealth,  whether  earned  or  inherited, 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  a  man's  duty  to 
serve  society.  The  idler  is  a  rotten  and  burdensome 
branch  of  the  social  tree,  whether  he  be  a  penniless 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES        149 

tramp  or  a  landed  millionaire !     But  socialism  is  hos- 
tile to  the  family. 

Rousseau  poured  contempt  upon  the  accumulated 
treasures  of  human  experience,  and  upon  all  the 
means  whereby  they  are  made  available  to  individual 
minds  —  books,  study,  schools,  colleges,  universities, 
social  intercourse.  Having  himself  very  little  know- 
ledge and  very  little  power  of  continuous  thinking,  he 
could  not  conceive  that  other  men  should  desire  to  be 
unlike  him.  He  despised  "high  thinking,"  and  all 
attempts,  through  sustained  inquiry  and  rigorous 
thought,  to  make  the  world  rational,  and  to  determine 
the  place  and  destiny  of  man,  as  a  rational  being,  in  it. 
In  the  place  of  such  thought,  which  is  essentially  uni- 
versal and,  therefore,  social,  he  put  vague  sentiment 
and  emotional  intuition,  which,  like  mystic  experi- 
ences, depending  upon  temperament,  are  individual 
and  unsocial.  "  Since  our  errors  come  from  our  judg- 
ments," he  says,  "it  is  clear  that,  if  we  never  had  to 
judge,  we  should  never  have  to  learn,  and  never  be  lia- 
ble to  deceive  ourselves.  We  should  be  happier  in  our 
ignorance  than  we  can  be  in  our  knowledge.  Who  de- 
nies that  scholars  know  a  thousand  true  things  which 
the  ignorant  will  never  know?  Are  the  scholars,  there- 
fore, nearer  the  truth?  On  the  contrary,  they  get 
further  from  it  as  they  go  on,  because,  since  the  vanity 
of  judging  makes  more  progress  than  light  does,  every 
truth  they  learn  is  sure  to  come  with  a  hundred  false 
judgments.  It  is  clear  as  daylight  that  the  learned 
societies  of  Europe  are  merely  public  schools  of  lies ; 
and  it  is  very  certain  that  there  are  more  errors  in 
the  Academy  of  Sciences  than  among  the  whole  Huron 


150  ROUSSEAU 

race.^  Since  the  more  men  know,  the  more  they 
deceive  themselves,  the  only  way  to  avoid  error  is 
ignorance.  Do  not  judge,  and  you  will  never  be 
duped.  This  is  the  lesson  of  Nature  as  well  as  of 
Eeason.  Apart  from  a  very  small  number  of  very 
sensible  relations  between  things  and  ourselves,  we 
have  naturally  a  profound  indifference  for  all  the  rest. 
A  savage  would  not  turn  his  foot  to  see  the  working 
of  the  finest  machine  or  all  the  prodigies  of  electricity. 
What  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  is  the  phrase  most  familiar 
to  the  ignorant,  and  most  suitable  to  the  wise." 
Though,  in  spite  of  this,  Rousseau  admits  that  men, 
when  forced  out  of  the  savage  state,  must  judge, ^  he, 
nevertheless,  continually  speaks  of  science,  learning, 
and  all  that  depends  upon  them,  as  degradations  and 
necessary  evils.  In  this  way  he  favored  obscurantism 
and  superstition. 

But  alongside  such  evil  teachings,  Kousseau  had 
others  which  were  of  a  different  nature.  His  attacks 
upon  luxury,  display,  and  the  vain  waste  of  wealth, 
and  his  eloquent  praises  of  plain,  simple,  modest  liv- 
ing, have  laid  humanity  forever  under  deep  obligations 
to  him.  Here  the  fervid,  passion-tipped  arrows  of 
his  rhetoric,  which  on  other  occasions  turned  men 
into  anarchic  fanatics,  roused  them  from  their  dull, 
inertly  blind  lethargy,  the  inheritance  from  centuries 
of  use  and  wont,  and  made  millions  of  them,  who  had 

1  These  judgments  show  what  good  reason  Rousseau  had  to  speak 
of  the  "  vanity  of  judging,"  and  to  praise  ignorance. 

2  It  is  needless  to  say  that  even  the  lowest  savage,  in  so  far  as 
he  is  conscious,  judges;  for  consciousness,  which  even  the  brutes 
possess,  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  complex  of  judgments.  To 
be  aware  of  a  feeling  is  to  make  a  judgment,  or  several. 


o 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         151 

been  crouching  before,  and  struggling  after,  wealth 
and  conventional  position,  see  that  under  their  very- 
hands  and  eyes  were  all  the  treasures  of  Nature,  and 
the  possibilities  of  a  life  which  made  these  things 
seem  contemptible.  When,  a  century  later,  Emerson 
said,  "  Give  me  health  and  a  day,  and  I  will  make  the 
pomp  of  emperors  ridiculous,"  he  had  been  to  school 
to  Kousseau.^ 

According  to  Rousseau's  plan,  the  three  or  four 
years  of  boyhood  are  to  be  passed  in  physical  exer- 
cises, in  learning  a  few  necessary  facts  in  regard  to 
the  physical  world,  and  a  few  simple  processes  called 
the  natural  arts,  and  in  drawing  a  few  simple  conclu- 
sions from  such  facts  and  processes.  He  says :  "  If  I 
have  made  myself  understood  thus  far,  it  will  be 
readily  imagined  how,  along  with  the  habits  of  bodily 
exercise  and  manual  training,  I  insensibly  ^  impart  to 
my  pupil  a  taste  for  reflection  and  meditation,  to 
counterbalance  the  sloth  which  would  result  from  his 
indifference  to  men's  judgments  and  from  the  calm 
of  the  passions.  He  must  toil  like  a  peasant  and 
think  like  a  philosopher,  in  order  not  to  be  as  indo- 
lent as  a  savage.  The  great  secret  of  education  is  to 
make  bodily  and  mental  exercises  always  serve  as 
recreations  from  each  other."! 

Looking  back  upon  the  progress  made  in  this  period, 
Rousseau  says:  "At  first  our  pupil  had  only  sensa- 

1  Indeed,  as  might  easily  be  shown  in  detail,  Emerson  is,  in  the 
main,  an  American  (moral)  Rousseau,  just  as  Wordsworth  is  an 
English  one.  "Good-bye,  proud  world,  I'm  going  home,"  might 
have  been  written  by  Rousseau. 

2  So  insensibly,  indeed,  that  the  reader  fails  to  observe  how,  or 
thftt,  it  is  done. 


152  ROUSSEAU 

tions;  now  he  has  ideas. ^  At  first  he  only  felt;  now 
he  judges.^  For  from  the  comparison  of  several  suc- 
cessive or  simultaneous  sensations,  and  from  the  judg- 
ment pronounced  on  them,  arises  a  sort  of  mixed  or 
complex  sensation  which  I  call  idea."  ^  "  The  manner 
of  forming  ideas,"  he  continues,  "is  what  imparts 
character  to  the  human  mind,"  and  he  gives  a  long 
list  of  mental  characteristics  arising  from  different 
ways  of  doing  so.  Then  follows  a  passage  so  charac- 
teristic that  it  must  be  quoted.  "Simple  ideas  are 
but  compared  sensations.  There  are  judgments  in  the 
simple  sensations,  as  well  as  in  the  complex  sensations 
which  I  call  ideas.  In  sensation  the  judgment  is 
purely  passive ;  it  affirms  *  that  what  is  felt  is  felt. 
In  the  perception,  or  idea,  the  judgment  is  active ;  it 
brings  together,  it  compares,  it  determines  ^  relations 
which  the  sense  does  not  determine.  This  is  all  the 
difference ;  but  it  is  great.  Nature  never  deceives  us ; 
it  is  we^  that  deceive  ourselves."  It  seems  plain 
that,  if  the  last  statement  is  true,  and  self-deception 
is  a  vice,  we  are  innately  vicious. 

But  to  return  to  £mile :  he  "  has  few  acquirements 
in  the  way  of  knowledge;  but  those  he  has  are  truly 
his  own:  he  knows  nothing  by  halves.  In  the  small 
number  of  things  which  he  knows,  and  knows  well, 

1  As  if  there  were  such  things  as  simple  sensations ! 

2  As  if  he  could  feel  without  judging! 

3  Judgment,  it  seems,  is  a  chemical  action  among  sensa^ 
tions. 

*  Surely  affirmation  is  an  act,  not  a  passion  (TdOot) . 

5  By  what  means  can  it  do  this  ? 

6  If  we  are  so  completely  opposed  to  Nature,  what  reason  can 
there  he  for  educating  us  according  to  Nature  ? 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         153 

tlie  most  important  is,  that  there  are  many  which  he 
does  not  know,  but  which  he  may  know  some  time; 
many  more  which  other  men  know,  but  which  he  will 
never  know  all  his  life,  and  an  infinity  of  others  which 
no  man  will  ever  know/'^  .  .  .  "^mile  has  only 
natural  and  purely  physical  knowledge.  He  does  not 
know  even  the  name  of  history,  or  the  meaning  of 
metaphysics  or  morals.  He  knows  the  essential  rela- 
tions of  men  to  things,  but  none  of  the  moral  relations 
of  man  to  man.  He  knows  little  about  how  to  gener- 
alize ideas,  or  to  make  abstractions.'^  He  sees  quali- 
ties common  to  certain  bodies,  without  reasoning 
about  these  qualities  themselves.  He  knows  abstract 
extension  by  the  help  of  geometrical  figures,  and  ab- 
stract quantity  by  means  of  algebraic  signs.*  These 
figures  and  signs  are  the  support  of  those  abstractions 
upon  which  his  senses  rest.  He  does  not  try  to  know 
things  through  their  nature,  but  only  through  the 
relations  which  interest  him.  He  estimates  what  is 
foreign  to  him  only  by  its  relation  to  himself;  but 
this  estimation  is  accurate  and  certain.  Fancy  and 
convention  play  no  part  in  it.  He  lays  most  stress 
upon  what  is  most  useful  to  him,  and,  never  depart- 
ing from  this  way  of  estimating,  he  sets  no  store  by 
opinion.  fimile  is  laborious,  temperate,  patient, 
firm,  courageous.*  jHis  imagination,  not  having  been 

1  That  he,  or  anybody  else,  could  arrive  at  such  knowledge  as 
this  is  a  miracle  surely. 

2  Rousseau  does  not  see  that  every  idea,  whether  simple  or  com- 
plex, involves  both  generalization  and  abstraction. 

*  It  is  certain  that  he  would  never  know  either  by  any  such 
means. 

*  We  find  an  exhibition  of  theee  virtues  on  p.  142. 


154  ROUSSEAU 

fired  in  any  way,*  never  magnifies  dangers  for  him. 
He  is  sensible  to  few  evils,  and  lie  can  suffer  with 
firmness,'^  because  he  has  not  learnt  to  wrangle  with 
fate."  ...  "In  a  word,  ifimile  has  all  the  virtues 
that  relate  to  himself.  In  order  to  have  also  the  social 
virtues,  he  merely  requires  to  have  the  relations  which 
call  for  them,  and  the  light  which  his  mind  is  now 
completely  ready  to  receive.  He  thinks  of  himself 
without  regard  to  others,  and  is  content  that  others 
should  not  think  of  him.  He  asks  nothing  of  any- 
body, and  does  not  feel  that  he  owes  anything  to 
anybody.  He  is  also  alone  in  human  society,  and 
relies  only  on  himself.*  As  much  as  any  one,  he  has 
a  right  to  do  this ;  for  he  is  all  that  one  can  be  at  his 
age.*  He  has  no  errors,  or  only  such  as  are  inevitable. 
He  has  no  vices,  or  only  those  against  which  no  man 
is  safe.^  His  body  is  healthy;  his  limbs  agile;  he  is 
fair-minded  and  unprejudiced,  heart-free  and  passion- 
less. Self-love  even,  the  first  and  most  natural  of  all 
the  passions,  has  hardly  yet  begun  to  stir.     Without 


1  Robinson  Crusoe  seems  to  have  proved  somewhat  firing. 
See  p.  143. 

*  For  what?  we  may  ask.  For  his  food  and  clothing?  For 
the  roof  over  his  head  ?  For  self-guidance  ?  If  so,  his  tutor  may 
vanish. 

*  This  is  certainly  very  wide  of  the  truth. 

fi  We  have  to  take  Rousseau's  word  for  this.  He  has  furnished 
us  no  proof  for  it.  A  boy  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  with  no  human  rela- 
tions but  those  of  a  puppet  worked  by  the  hidden  wires  of  a  magi- 
cian tutor,  cannot  be  said  to  have  either  virtues  or  vices.  His  will 
having  never  been  called  into  exercise,  he  is  altogether  in  a  sub- 
moral  condition,  knowing  neither  good  nor  evil.  At  best,  he  is  a 
well-trained  animal. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         155 

disquieting  any  one,  he  has  lived  contented,  happy, 
so  far  as  Nature  has  allowed."  ^ 

Such  is  fimile,  at  the  age  of  puberty,  an  altogether 
fantastic  and  impossible  creature,  a  human  automa- 
ton, neither  man  nor  beast,  utterly  unloving  and 
unlovable.  Instead  of  being  richly  and  plastically 
moulded  by  the  manifold  influences  of  society,  he  has 
been  cast  in  a  rigid,  beggarly  mould,  by  one  man's  cold 
caprice,  calling  itself  natural  necessity. 

1  No,  as  far  as  Rousseau's  utterly  false  views  of  Nature  have 
allowed.  In  fact,  Emile  has  all  the  time  been  caged,  watched,  and 
trained  in  ignorance  into  complete  artificiality. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES 

Adolescence 
{J^mile,  Bk.  IV.) 

A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing  reason's  colder  part, 
And,  like  a  man  in  wrath,  the  heart 

Stood  up  and  answer'd,  "  I  have  felt." 

Tennyson,  In  Memoriam,  cxxiv. 

In  my  dealing  with  my  child,  my  Latin  and  Greek,  my 
accomplishments,  and  my  money  stead  me  nothing;  but  as 
much  soul  as  I  have  avails.  If  I  am  wilful,  he  sets  his  will 
against  mine,  one  for  one,  and  leaves  me,  if  I  please,  the  degra- 
dation of  beating  him  by  my  superiority  of  strength. 

Emerson. 

It  is  the  misfortune  of  all  those  people  who 
despise  or  undervalue  patient  research,  and  careful 
reasoning  from  the  same,  that,  when  they  undertake 
to  write,  they  are  forced  to  substitute  for  the  true^ar- 
rangements  of  science,  specious  schemes  drawn  from 
their  own  undisciplined  imaginations.  It  was  owing 
to  such  a  misfortune  that  Rousseau  was  led  to  adopt 
the  neat  and  pretty  formula  that,  before  the  age  of 
puberty  the  human  being,  having  no  sympathetic 
imagination,  is  guided  entirely  by  selfish  or  egoistic 
instincts,  and  that  only  after  that,  and  through  the 

156 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONiVL   THEORIES         167 

physical  and  emotional  changes  consequent  upon  it, 
he  begins  to  manifest  social  instincts.  These,  he 
thinks,  are  awakened  by  the  imagination,  and  the 
imagination,  which  enables  us  to  go  beyond  ourselves 
and  identify  ourselves  with  others,  springs  up  with 
the  sexual  instinct.  That  Rousseau  should  favor 
this  view,  is  intelligible  enough.  So  portentous  and 
all-pervasive  was  the  part  played  by  the  sexual  pas- 
sion in  his  own  life,  that  it  may  fairly  be  said  to  have 
extended  to  every  human  relation  which  had  any 
attraction  for  him.  A  relation  without  something  of 
this  meant  nothing  to  him.  This  is  the  secret  of  his 
aversion  to  society,  whose  nobler  relations  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  sexuality.  And  the  theory  itself  is 
obtrusively  untrue.  Not  only  "  is  man  by  nature  a 
political  animal,"  but  almost  from  the  dawn  of  con- 
sciousness the  child  shows  social  sympathies,  and 
gives  evidence  of  lively  imaginations.  Very  small 
children  love  their  brothers,  sisters,  and  playmates, 
and  grieve  when  separated  from  them.  Their  attach- 
ment to  their  mothers  and  nurses  is  often  deep  and 
genuine.^  Nor  only  so;  but  they  learn  quite  early  to 
understand  social  relations  and  to  make  moral  distinc- 
tions. The  latter  may  not  always  be  correct;  but  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  Many  children, 
at  five  or  six,  have  very  tender  consciences,  and  are 
inconsolable  when  they  think  that  they  have  done 
wrong,  though  they  have  no  punishment  to  fear.^ 

^  I  knew  a  child  of  four  who  cried  bitterly,  because  some  one  had 
said  that  his  nurse,  a  very  plain,  almost  grotesque,  old  woman,  was 
not  handsome. 

2  Rousseau,  speaking  of  himself  at  the  age  of  seven,  says:  "I 
had  no  idea  of  things,  though  all  the  feelings  were  already  known 


158  ROUSSEAU 

The  chief  aim  of  education  during  the  period  of 
' adolescence  is  to  "  perfect  reason  by  feeling."  ^  When 
the  sexual  feelings  have  begun  to  stir,  but,  not  having 
yet  found,  or  concentrated  themselves  upon,  their 
proper  object,  go  out  through  imagination  to  all  sen- 
tient beings  indiscriminately,  the  time  has  come  for 
the  development  and  training  of  the  social  emotions,* 
—  friendship,  compassion,  sympathy,  etc.  In  the 
first  place,  every  care  is  to  be  taken  lest  the  sexual 
feelings  should  at  once  find  their  proper  object,  and, 
through  imagination,  concentrate  themselves  upon  it, 
and  Eousseau  has  some  sensible  remarks  upon  the  way 
to  prevent  this.  If  they  should  at  once  find  their 
object,  the  growing  youth  will,  in  all  likelihood, 
become  a  selfish  sensualist,  cruel,  thoughtless,  and 
brutal,  and  never  develop  the  social  emotions  at  all.* 
If  they  do  not,  there  will  be  an  abundant  overflow  of 
warm  friendliness.  "A  young  man  reared  in  sim- 
plicity is  carried  by  the  first  movements  of  Nature 

to  me.  I  had  conceived  nothing;  I  had  felt  everything,  and  th« 
imaginaT^  misfortunes  of  my  heroes  drew  from  me  a  hundred 
times  more  tears  in  my  childhood  than  even  my  own  have  ever 
made  me  shed."  Confessions,  Bk.  I.  Surely  there  is  no  lack  of 
sympathy  or  imagination  here ! 

1  This  completely  inverts  the  order  of  fact.  Feeling  is  primitive ; 
reason  merely  makes  distinctions  in  feeling.  The  world  itself  is 
only  a  complex  of  feelings  distinguished  and  analyzed  by  reason, 
itself  inherent  in  feeling. 

2  Emotion  is  that  residue  of  primitive  desiderant  feeling  (pleasure 
and  pain)  which  has  not  been  differentiated  by  perceptive  or  active 
organs,  but  which  naturally  connects  itself  with  the  feelings  par- 
ticularized by  these,  after  they  are  formed. 

s  This  was  precisely  Rousseau's  own  case.  Here  he  could  speak 
from  bitter  experience ;  and  the  sinner  is  by  no  means  the  worst 
preacher  against  sin. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         159 

toward  tender  and  affectionate  passions.  His  com- 
passionate heart  is  moved  by  the  sufferings  of  his 
kind ;  he  starts  with  delight  when  his  comrade  comes 
back  to  him;  his  arms  are  able  to  find  caressing  em- 
braces, his  eyes  to  shed  tears  of  tender  emotion;  he 
feels  shame  when  he  incurs  displeasure,  and  regret 
when  he  causes  offence.  If  the  heat  of  his  burning 
blood  makes  him  quick,  impatient,  angry,  the  next 
moment  all  the  goodness  of  his  heart  returns  in  the 
effusiveness  of  his  repentance.  He  weeps,  he  sobs 
over  the  wound  he  has  caused ;  with  his  own  blood  he 
would  be  glad  to  redeem  that  which  he  has  shed ;  all 
his  anger  dies  out;  all  his  pride  is  humbled  before 
the  feeling  of  his  fault.  If  he  is  offended  himself,  at 
the  height  of  his  fury,  an  excuse,  a  word,  disarms 
him ;  he  forgives  the  wrongs  done  him  by  others  with 
the  same  good  heart  with  which  he  repairs  those  he 
does  to  others."  In  an  age  when  gush,  embracing, 
weeping,  and  fainting  were  fashionable,  ^  such  a  youth, 
no  doubt,  seemed  in  the  highest  degree  admirable :  he 
would  hardly  be  the  ideal  of  to-day  among  men  of 
Germanic  blood. 

Rousseau  sums  up  "  the  whole  of  human  wisdom  in 
the  use  of  the  passions  "  in  two  rules :  (J.)  to  feel  the 
true  relations  of  man,  both  in  the  species  and  in  the 
individual;  (2)  to  order  all  the  affections  of  the  soul 
in  accordance  with  these  relations.     Only  by  follow- 


1  Hume,  who  had  no  superfluity  of  emotion,  speaking  of  a  scene 
with  Rousseau,  writes:  "  I  assure  you  I  kissed  him  and  embraced 
him  twenty  times,  with  a  plentiful  effusion  of  tears.  I  think  no 
scene  of  my  life  was  ever  more  affecting."    Burton,  Life  of  Hume, 

n.,  315. 


160  ROUSSEAU 

ing  these  does  man  become  moral.     With  a  view  to 
this  Rousseau  lays  down  three  maxims,  viz.,  — 

(1)  It  is  not  in  the  power  of  the  human  heart  to 
put  itself  in  the  place  of  those  who  are  happier  than 
we,  but  only  of  those  who  are  more  to  be  pitied. 

(2)  We  pity  in  others  only  the  sufferings  from 
which  we  do  not  think  ourselves  safe. 

(3)  The  pity  which  we  feel  for  others'  ills  is  not 
measured  by  the  amount  of  those  ills,  but  by  what  we 
suppose  they  suffer  from  them. 

It  might  easily  be  shown  that  these  maxims  are 
untrue;  but  they  are  used  by  Rousseau  to  justify  him 
in  directing  his  pupil's  newly  awakened  social  sym- 
pathies to  the  sufferings,  rather  than  to  the  joys,  of 
humanity  —  to  the  poor  and  oppressed,  rather  than  to 
the  rich  and  overweening.  And  this  furnishes  him 
an  opportunity,  of  which  he  makes  masterly  use,  to 
compare  the  world  of  wealth  and  fashion  with  the 
world  of  poverty  and  simplicity  —  greatly  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  latter.  He  concludes  that  fimile  must 
be  removed  from  cities,  where  fashion,  immodesty, 
and  luxury  contribute  to  sexual  precocity  and  corrup- 
tion, and  taken  to  the  country,  to  develop  slowly  in 
simplicity.  Here  he  is  still  to  be  caged,  guarded, 
and  duped.  If,  in  spite  of  all  precautions,  the  pas- 
sions prove  incontrollable,  he  is  to  be  taken  to  a  hos- 
pital and  shown  the  physical  effects  of  unbridled  lust 
in  their  worst  form.  At  the  same  time  every  effort 
must  be  made  to  direct  the  young  man's  affections 
into  broader  and  more  peaceful  channels.  His  tutor, 
hitherto  so  rigid,  representing  necessity,  must  now 
become  his  intimate  friend,  and  strive  to  call  out  his 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         161 

affection  for  both  himself  and  others.  Under  his 
guidance,  ifimile  "must  study  society  through  men, 
and  men  through  society,"  beginning  with  the  study 
of  the  human  heart.  In  this  process,  he  will  be  able 
to  distinguish  between  "the  real  and  indestructible 
equality  "  due  to  Nature,  and  the  chimerical  and  vain 
equality  found  in  society,  in  which  "the  many  are 
always  sacrificed  to  the  few,  and  public  interests  to 
private,  and  the  specious  names  of  justice  and  subor- 
dination always  serve  as  instruments  of  violence  and 
weapons  of  iniquity."  But,  in  order  that  such  study 
may  not  render  him  misanthropic  and  pessimistic,  he 
must  use  other  experiences  besides  his  own,  and  be 
made  acquainted  with  worthy  people.  His  surround- 
ings must  be  such  that  "  he  shall  think  well  of  those 
who  live  with  him,  and  become  so  well  acquainted 
with  the  world  as  to  think  everything  that  is  done  in 
it  bad."  "Let  him  know,"  says  Kousseau,  "that  man 
is  naturally  good;  let  him  feel  it;  let  him  judge  his 
neighbor  by  himself;  but  let  him  see  how  society 
depraves  and  perverts  men;  let  him  find  in  their 
prejudices  the  source  of  all  their  vices;  let  him  be 
brought  to  esteem  each  individual;  but  let  him  de- 
spise the  multitude;  let  him  see  that  all  men  wear 
pretty  nearly  the  same  mask;  but  let  him  also  know 
that  there  are  faces  fairer  than  the  masks  that  -cover 
them."  *^is  personal  experience  may  be  widened  and 
corrected  by  the  study  of  history,^  and  especially  of 

1  Much  of  what  Rousseau  says  on  the  subject  of  history  and  the 
study  of  it  is  truly  admirable,  and  deserves  the  most  careful  con- 
sideration on  the  part  of  educators.  His  estimate  of  Herodotus, 
Thucydides,  Xeuophon,  Caesar,  Livy,  Tacitus,  etc.,  is  entirely 
correct. 


162  ROUSSEAU 

ancient  history,  whicli  is  simpler  and  truer  than 
modern,  as  well  as  by  the  reading  of  well-written 
biographies,  such  as  those  of  the  inimitable  Plutarch. 
But,  after  all,  the  best  and  most  effective  way  of  guid- 
ing the  affections  of  a  young  man,  and  of  making  him 
acquainted  with  men,  is  to  engage  him  in  active 
benevolence.  Kindly  sentiments  and  noble  words, 
which  children  learn  at  school,  are  impotent,  compared 
with  the  experience  that  comes  of  kindly  acts.  "Di- 
rect your  pupil,"  says  Rousseau,  "to  all  good  actions 
that  are  possible  for  him;  let  the  interest  of  the  poor 
be  always  his  interest;  let  him  aid  them,  not  only 
with  his  purse,  but  with  his  care ;  let  him  serve  them, 
protect  them,  and  devote  his  time  to  them;  let  him 
become  their  agent;  he  will  never  again,  in  all  his 
life,  fill  so  noble  a  place."  Without  troubling  him- 
self about  the  epithets  which  the  public  may  apply  to 
him,  "he  will  do  whatever  he  knows  to  be  useful  and 
good."  .  .  .  "He  knows  that  his  first  duty  is  toward 
himself,  that  young  people  must  be  diffident,  circum- 
spect in  their  behavior,  respectful  to  their  elders,  reti- 
cent and  discreet  in  talking  without  occasion,  modest 
in  things  indifferent,  but  bold  in  well-doing,  and  cour- 
ageous  in  speaking  the  truth." ^  "To  prevent  pity 
from  degenerating  into  weakness,  it  must  be  gener- 
alized and  extended  to  the  whole  human  race.  Then 
we  yield  to  it  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  in  accord  with 
justice,  because,  of  all  the  virtues,  justice  is  the  one 

1  By  what  process  the  animal,  self-centred  ]6mile  of  sixteen  be- 
comes the  bold  philanthropist  of  eighteen,  Rousseau  says  he  is  not 
bound  to  tell  us,  and  we  never  find  out ;  but  the  new  !l6mile,  if  he 
could  be  made  a  reality,  is  certainly  a  most  admirable  creature, 
and  deserves  all  the  encomiums  of  his  maker. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         163 

that  contributes  most  to  universal  human  well-being. 
Both  from  reason,  and  for  our  own  sake,  we  must 
have  pity  on  our  race  still  more  than  on  our  neighbor; 
and  it  is  a  great  cruelty  toward  men  to  have  pity  upon 
the  wicked."  In  this  way  £mile  acquires  the  two 
great  virtues  of  humanity  and  justice.^  Both  are 
generalized  pity. 

Rousseau  feels  that  his  new  ideal  may  seem  impos- 
sible or  fantastic  to  most  people,  who  will  say  to  him : 
*'  Nothing  of  what  you  suppose  exists :  young  people 
are  not  made  that  way;  they  have  such  and  such  pas- 
sions; they  do  this  and  that."  To  such  he  replies: 
"  Just  as  if  one  were  to  deny  that  a  pear-tree  is  ever 
a  large  tree,  because  we  see  only  dwarfs  in  our 
gardens ! " 

There  is  still  one  more  influence  which  may  now  be 
brought  to  bear,  to  calm  the  passions  and  give  them 
beneficent  direction,  and  that  is  Religion.  Of  this 
great  subject  no  mention  has  thus  far  been  made ;  it 
has  played  no  part  in  fimile's  early  education.  In 
recommending  its  introduction  at  the  present  stage, 
Rousseau  gives  his  reasons  for  excluding  it  before. 
The  most  cogent  of  these  is,  that  it  could  not  with  any 
effect  have  been  introduced  earlier,  because  the  con- 
cepts with  which  it  deals  are  unintelligible  to  the 
child.  He  blames  Locke  for  maintaining  that  spirits 
should  be  studied  before  bodies,  and  declares  that 
"this  is  the  method  of  superstition,"  and  "only  serves 

1  Of  course,  this  justice  always  remains  an  individual  and  sub- 
jective thing,  a  mere  principle  of  knight-errantry,  and  cannot  do 
otherwise,  until  it  is  embodied  in  a  State  capable  of  giving  it  uni- 
versal effect.  Plato  showed  this  in  his  Republic;  but  Rousseau 
hated  states. 


164  ROUSSEAU 

to  establish  materialism,"  since,  in  trying  to  think 
spirits,  children  think  only  bodies,  ghosts.  "A  spirit 
means  but  a  body  both  to  the  common  people  and  to 
children."  .  .  .  "Every  child  who  believes  in  God 
is,  therefore,  necessarily,  an  idolater,  or,  at  least,  an 
anthropomorphist ;  and,  when  once  the  imagination 
has  seen  God,  the  understanding  rarely  conceives 
him."  And,  even  if  we  could  impart  to  the  child  the 
notions  current  in  philosophy,  and  could  make  him 
think  a  single  substance,  combining  in  itself  the  in- 
compatible attributes  of  extension  and  thought,^  we 
should  not  be  much  nearer  the  mark,  or  reach  any 
comprehension  of  the  theological  "  ideas  of  creation, 
annihilation,  ubiquity,  eternity,  omnipotence,  and 
those  of  the  divine  attributes."  But  not  only  are  the 
conceptions  of  religion  beyond  the  reach  of  a  child; 
many  of  its  teachings  are  apt  to  lead  to  the  most  fatal 
results.  "  We  must  believe  in  God  in  order  to  be  saved. 
This  dogma,  wrongly  understood,  is  the  principle  of 
bloody  intolerance,  and  the  cause  of  all  those  vain 
teachings  which  aim  a  mortal  blow  at  human  reason, 
by  accustoming  it  to  satisfy  itself  with  words.  To 
be  sure,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost  when  eternal 
salvation  is  to  be  won;  but,  if  it  can  be  obtained  by 
the  mere  repetition  of  certain  words,  I  do  not  see 
what  hinders  us  from  peopling  heaven  with  jackdaws 
and  magpies,  as  well  as  with  children."  .  .  .  "What 
does  the  child,  who  professes  the  Christian  religion, 

1  Here  Rousseau  shows  some  slight  knowledge  of  the  philosophies 
of  Descartes  and  Spinoza,  who  held  extension  and  thought  to  be 
incompatible.  This  is  so  far  from  being  true  that  extension  apart 
from  thought  is  utterly  inconceivable,  as  is  also  duration. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         165 

believe?  What  he  conceives;  and  he  conceives  so 
little  of  what  you  say  to  him  that,  if  you  tell  him  the 
contrary,  he  will  adopt  it  with  equal  readiness.  The 
faith  of  children  and  many  men  is  an  affair  of  geog- 
raphy. Are  they  to  be  rewarded  for  being  born  in 
Rome,  rather  than  in  Mecca? "  .  .  .  "When  a  child 
says  he  believes  in  God,  it  is  not  in  God  that  he 
believes.  He  believes  Tom  or  Dick,  who  tells  him 
that  there  is  something  which  is  called  God."  Since 
a  child  cannot  believe  in  God,  he  cannot  be  punished 
for  not  doing  so.  "Reason  tells  us  that  a  man  is 
punishable  only  for  the  sins  of  his  will,  and  that  in- 
vincible ignorance  can  never  be  imputed  to  him  as  a 
crime."  "Opinion  triumphs  in  the  matter  of  relig- 
ion, more  than  in  aught  else.  But,  seeing  that  we 
set  out  to  shake  off  its  yoke  in  everything,  and  to 
allow  no  place  for  authority  ...  in  what  religion 
shall  we  rear  Emile?  To  what  sect  shall  we  assign 
the  man  of  Nature.  The  answer,  it  seems  to  me,  is 
very  simple.  We  shall  assign  him  to  no  sect;  but  we 
shall  put  him  in  a  position  to  select  that  which  the 
best  use  of  his  reason  may  lead  him  to." 

Rousseau  now  undertakes  to  give  an  account  of  the 
religion  of  Nature  or  Reason;  but,  instead  of  this, 
really  gives  us  his  own  beliefs,  which  sprang,  not  from 
Reason,  but  from  tradition,  sentiment,  and  desire. 
Moreover,  instead  of  setting  these  forth  in  his  own 
name,  he  puts  them  into  the  mouth  of  a  humble  and 
unfortunate  Savoyard  Vicar,  whose  traits  are  drawn 
from  two  men  whom  he  had  actually  known.  ^ 

1  See  above,  pp.  38,  40. 


166  ROUSSEAU 

The  Savoyard  Vicar's  Confession  of  Faith,  though 
it  would  now  be  considered  a  very  harmless  produc- 
tion, made  a  great  noise  at  the  time  of  its  appearance, 
and  brought  down  upon  Rousseau  the  odium  and  per- 
secution of  the  whole  religious  world  of  France  and 
Switzerland.  It  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  an 
attempt  to  prove  what,  some  twenty  years  later,  Kant, 
borrowing  from  Eousseau,  called  the  three  Postulates 
of  the  Pure  Reason,  —  God,  Freedom,  and  Immortality, 
—^supposed  to  be  the  essentials  of  Natural  Religion. 
Rousseau  had  been  both  a  Catholic  and  a  Protestant, 
had  heard  his  father  tell  about  his  experiences  with 
the  Moslems  in  Constantinople,  and  had  listened  to 
the  negative  teachings  of  Voltaire  and  the  Encyclopae- 
dists. The  result  was  that,  while  sectarianism,  with 
its  exclusive  dogmas,  lost  all  meaning  and  authority 
for  him,  he  still  wished  to  retain  what,  listening  to 
his  heart,  he  was  fain  to  consider  the  essentials  of 
religion,  and  did  his  best  to  prove  them  true.  His 
proofs,  however,  have  no  validity.  In  so  far  as  they 
can  be  called  proofs  at  all,  they  are  mainly  drawn 
from  the  writings  of  Dr.  Samuel  Clarke  (died  in  1729) ; 
but,  in  reality,  they  are  mere  feelings  and  desires  trans- 
lated into  thoughts.  The  Vicar  is  made  to  say :  "  Im- 
penetrable mysteries  surround  us  on  all  sides ;  ^  they 
are  above  the  sensible  region;  as  a  means  of  piercing 
them  we  think  we  have  intelligence,  and  have  only 
imagination.  Through  this  imaginary  world  every 
one  clears  the  path  that  seems  good  to  him;  no  one 
can  know  whether  his  own  leads  to  the  goal.  Never- 
theless, we  try  to  penetrate  and  to  know  everything. 

1  The  greatest  mystery  of  all  is,  how  any  one  can  know  this. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES  167 

The  only  thing  we  do  not  know  how  to  do,  is  to  be 
ignorant  of  what  we  cannot  know."^  .  .  .  "The 
first  result  of  these  reflections  was,  that  I  learnt  to 
limit  my  inquiries  to  what  interested  me  immediately, 
to  remain  in  profound  ignorance  of  all  the  rest,  and 
not  even  to  take  the  trouble  to  doubt  except  about 
things  which  it  was  important  for  me  to  know."* 
...  "  Moreover,  I  realized  that  the  philosophers,  so 
far  from  delivering  me  from  my  useless  doubts,  would 
only  multiply  those  that  tormented  me,  without  set- 
tling any  of  them.  I,  therefore,  took  another  guide, 
and  said:  'Let  us  consult  the  inner  light; '  it  will  not 
lead  me  so  far  astray  as  they  do;  or,  at  least,  my 
error  will  be  my  own,  and  I  shall  be  less  depraved 
by  following  my  own  illusions  than  by  trusting  to 
their  lies.^"  .  .  .  "Imagine  all  your  philosophers, 
ancient  and  modern,  having  first  exhausted  their  gro- 
tesque systems  of  force,  chance,  fatality,  necessity, 
animated  world,  living  matter,  and  materialism  of 
every  sort,  and,  after  them,  the  illustrious  Clarke, 
explaining  the  world,  proclaiming,  at  last,  the  Being 
of  beings  and  the  dispenser  of  things;  with  what  uni- 
versal admiration,  with  what  unanimous  applause 
would  this  system  have  been  received  —  a  system  so 
grand,  so  consoling,  so  sublime,  so  calculated  to  uplift 


1  In  these  sentences  we  have  the  germs  both  of  Kantian  Criticism 
and  of  Huxleyan  Agnosticism. 

2  Good  ;  but  what  is  important  for  us  to  know  ? 

3  "  They  tell  us,"  he  says  elsewhere,  "that  conscience  is  the 
result  of  prejudice;  yet  I  know, /row  my  experience,  that  it  insists 
upon  following  the  order  of  Nature,  in  opposition  to  all  the  laws  of 
men."  Here  we  have  complete  subjectivism,  individualism,  and 
anarchism. 


168  ROUSSEAU 

the  soul,  to  furnish  a  foundation  for  virtue,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  so  luminous,  so  simple,  and,  it  seems 
to  me,  offering  fewer  things  incomprehensible  to  the 
human  mind  than  there  are  absurdities  in  any  other 
system ! "  .  .  .  "  Having  thus,  within  myself,  the 
love  of  truth  as  my  only  philosophy,  and,  as  my  only 
method,  an  easy  and  simple  rule,  which  relieves  me 
from  the  vain  subtlety  of  arguments,  I  resumed,  in 
accordance  with  this  rule,  the  examination  of  those 
parts  of  knowledge  which  interested  me,  being  deter- 
mined to  accept,  as  evident,  all  those  to  which,  in 
the  sincerity  of  my  hearty  I  could  not  refuse  my  assent; 
as  true  all  those  that  might  seem  to  me  to  have  a 
necessary  connection  ^  with  the  former,  and  to  leave 
all  the  rest  uncertain,  without  either  rejecting  or  ac- 
cepting them,  and  without  bothering  myself  to  explain 
them,  seeing  that  they  lead  to  nothing  useful  in  prac- 
tice." Proceeding  on  the  lines  of  Descartes,  Rous- 
seau comes  to  this:  "I  exist,  and  I  have  senses, 
through  which  I  am  affected.^  This  is  the  first  truth 
that  strikes  me,  and  to  which  I  am  forced  to  assent." 
It  would  be  vain  to  waste  time  on  these  crudities. 
They  are  not  due  to  any  accurate  thinking,  or  to  any 
real,  enlightened  desire  for  the  truth,  but  to  an  effort 
to  justify  a  lazy,  intellectual  habit,  in  behalf  of  a  fore- 
gone scheme  of  sensuous,  unsocial  life.  If  sectarian 
beliefs  are  a  matter  of  geography,  these  emotional  prej- 
udices are  matters  of  both  geography  and  individual 

1  It  requires  considerable  philosophy  to  find  ont  what  is  a  neces- 
sary connection,  and  what  "  necessary  "  means. 

2  Yes ;  but  what  is  the  meaning  of  I,'  *  exist,' '  senses,' '  affected '  ? 
To  tell  that  requires  a  subtle  philosophy. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         169 

temperament.  Neither  Rousseau^s  acquaintance, 
Helvdtius,  nor  any  Singhalese  Buddhist  would  have 
found  any  difficulty  in  refusing  assent  to  Eousseau's 
self-evident  truths.  He  may  well  be  spoken  of  as  a 
mystic  voluptuary, — 

"  Quenching  all  wonder  with  omnipotence, 
Praising  a  name  with  indolent  piety."  i 

We  are  interested  in  his  scheme  only  because  it 
furnishes  the  method  by  which  ifimile  is  to  be  led  to 
religion,  to  that  view  of  higher  things  supposed  to  be 
necessary  for  the  direction  of  his  passions  and  imagi- 
nation. "  By  developing  the  natural,"  says  Rousseau, 
"  we  have  been  able  to  control  his  nascent  sensibility ; 
by  cultivating  the  reason,  we  have  regulated  it.  In- 
tellectual objects  moderated  the  expression  of  sensible 
objects.  By  rising  to  the  principle  of  things,  we  have 
withdrawn  him  from  the  dominion  of  the  senses.  It 
was  a  simple  matter  to  rise  from  the  study  of  Nature 
to  the  search  for  its  author." 

The  recently  unimaginative,  unreflective  fimile, 
being  thus  daily  sentimentalized,  will  be  very  unlike 
other  youths.  "You  always  imagine  him,"  says 
Rousseau,  "like  your  young  men,  always  heedless, 
always  petulant,  flighty,  wandering  from  fete  to  fete, 
from  amusement  to  amusement,  without  being  able  to 
adhere  to  anything.  You  will  laugh  to  see  me  make 
a  contemplative  being,  a  philosopher, '^  a  true  theolo- 
gian, out  of  an  ardent,  quick,  high-tempered,  high- 
spirited  young  man,  at  the  most  ebullient  time  of  his 

1  George  Eliot,  Spanish  Gypsy,  Bk.  I. 

'  If  he  had  submitted  to  this  indignity,  Rousaean  would  hay© 
disowned  him. 


170  ROUSSEAU 

life.".  .  .  "I,  comparing  my  pupil  with  yours,  find 
that  they  can  hardly  have  anything  in  common."  .  .  . 
"Yours  think  they  escape  from  childhood  only  by 
shaking  off  all  sort  of  yoke;  they  then  make  up  for 
the  long  constraint  to  which  they  have  been  subjected, 
as  a  prisoner  does,  who,  when  delivered  from  his 
fetters,  puts  forth,  shakes,  and  bends  his  limbs, 
^mile,  on  the  contrary,  is  proud  to  become  a  man, 
and  to  submit  to  the  yoke  of  nascent  reason.  His 
body,  already  formed,  has  no  need  of  the  old  move- 
ments, and  begins  to  stop  of  itself,  whilst  his  mind, 
half-developed,  now,  in  turn,  seeks  to  soar.  Thus, 
while  the  age  of  reason  is,  for  the  former,  the  age  of 
license,  it  becomes  for  the  latter  the  age  of  reasoning." 
But,  in  spite  of  all  efforts  to  drain  off  into  side 
channels  the  rising  tide  of  sexual  instinct,  the  time  at 
last  comes  when  this  can  no  longer  be  done.  "  From 
this  moment,"  says  Eousseau,  your  ward,  "though 
still  your  disciple,  is  no  longer  your  pupil.  He  is 
your  friend ;  he  is  a  man.  Treat  him  henceforth  as 
such."  .  .  .  "Hitherto  you  have  got  nothing  from 
him  except  by  force  or  wiles :  authority  and  the  law 
of  duty  were  unknown  to  him ;  he  had  to  be  forced  or 
duped,  before  he  would  obey  you."  .  .  .  "In  order  to 
guide  an  adult,  you  must  do  the  very  opposite  of  all 
that  you  have  done  in  order  to  guide  a  child."  In 
accordance  with  this,  Emile  is  now  to  be  informed  of 
all  that  has  been  hitherto  concealed  from  him  —  the 
purpose  and  method  of  his  past  education,  the  dupery 
that  has  been  practised  on  him,  the  course  he  has  to 
pursue  in  the  future,  and  the  perils  that  await  him, 
especially  those  arising  from  his  own  passions.     In 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         171 

regard  to  these  he  is  now  to  receive  clear  and  earnest 
instruction.  To  protect  him  from  passion-suggested 
imaginings,  he  is  to  be  withdrawn  from  all  lonely, 
sedentary,  lazy  occupations,  as  well  as  from  the  so- 
ciety of  women  and  young  men,  and  made  to  engage 
in  vigorous  pursuits,  such  as  hunting,  which  will  not 
only  occupy  his  mind,  but  tire  out  his  body.  At  the 
same  time  the  sexual  relation  is,  in  various  ways,  to 
be  surrounded  with  a  halo  of  sacramental  awe,  as  the 
portal  to  supreme  bliss.  "Thereupon,"  says  Rous- 
seau, "  I  will  call  the  Eternal  Being,  whose  work  he 
is,  to  attest  the  truth  of  my  words ;  I  will  make  him 
judge  between  Emile  and  me;  I  will  mark  the  place 
where  we  are,  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  mountains 
that  surround  us,  as  monuments  of  his  pledges  and 
mine.  I  will  throw  into  my  eyes,  my  voice,  my  gest- 
ures, the  enthusiasm  and  the  ardor  with  which  I 
wish  to  inspire  him.  Then  I  shall  speak,  and  he  will 
listen  to  me.  I  shall  melt,  and  he  will  be  moved. 
By  thus  suffusing  myself  with  the  sanctity  of  my 
duties,  I  shall  render  his  more  worthy  of  respect;  I 
shall  strengthen  and  animate  my  reasoning  with 
images  and  figures ;  I  shall  not  be  prolix  and  diffuse 
in  cold  maxims,  but  abounding  in  overflowing  feel- 
ings ;  my  reason  will  be  grave  and  sententious ;  but 
my  heart  will  never  have  said  enough.  Then,  in 
showing  him  all  that  I  have  done  for  him,^  I  shall 
show  him  that  I  have  done  it  for  myself:  he  will  see 
in  my  tender  affection  the  reason  of  all  my  care. 
What  surprise,  what  agitation  I  shall  cause  him,  by 

1  The  tutor,  it  must  be  remembered,  gives  his  services  gratui- 
tously. 


172  ROUSSEAU 

this  sudden  change  of  language !  Instead  of  belittling 
his  soul  by  continually  talking  to  him  about  his  own 
interests,  I  shall  henceforth  talk  to  him  of  mine,  and 
I  shall  touch  him  more  deeply.  I  shall  inflame  his 
young  heart  with  all  the  feelings  of  friendship,  gen- 
erosity, and  gratitude  which  I  have  already  called 
forth,  and  which  are  so  sweet  to  nourish.  I  shall 
press  him  to  my  bosom,  shedding  over  him  tears  of 
tenderness :  I  shall  say  to  him :  '  You  are  my  property, 
my  child,  my  work;  from  your  happiness  I  expect 
mine:  if  you  frustrate  my  hopes,  you  steal  twenty 
years  of  my  life,  and  you  cause  the  unhappiness  of 
my  declining  years.'  It  is  in  this  way  that  one  can 
make  a  young  man  listen  to  him,  and  engrave  on  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  the  remembrance  of  what  one  says 
to  him." 

Alas  for  fimile,  if  he  can  be  caught  by  any  such 
lachrymose  discharge  as  this !  It  is  needless  to  say 
that  it  is  at  once  ungenerous  and  immoral,  as  all  at- 
tempt to  guide  a  human  being  by  any  other  motive 
than  moral  insight  always  is.  If  Emile  were  properly 
educated,  he  would  repel  all  such  suggestions  with 
scornful  indignation,  or,  if  he  had  any  sense  of  humor, 
with  pitying  laughter.  Instead  of  this,  he  is  made 
to  reply:  "0  my  friend,  my  protector,  my  master! 
resume  the  authority  which  you  proposed  to  lay  down 
at  the  moment  when  it  was  most  necessary  that  you 
should  retain  it.  Thus  far  you  have  possessed  it 
only  through  my  weakness ;  now  you  shall  possess  it 
through  my  will;  and  it  will  be  all  the  more  sacred 
to  me  for  that  reason.  Defend  me  from  all  the  ene- 
mies that  assail  me,  and  especially  from  those  that  I 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES        173 

carry  within  myself,  and  that  betray  me.  Watch 
over  your  work,  that  it  may  remain  worthy  of  you. 
I  wish  to  obey  your  laws;  I  wish  it  always:  it  is  my 
constant  will.  If  ever  I  disobey  you,  it  will  be  in 
spite  of  myself.  Make  me  free,  by  protecting  me 
against  my  passions,  which  do  me  violence ;  save  me 
from  being  their  slave,  and  compel  me  to  be  my  own 
master,  by  obeying,  not  my  senses,  but  my  reason." 

ifimile,  having  thus,  like  a  coward,  voluntarily  re- 
nounced his  moral  autonomy,  for  the  sake  of  being 
protected  from  himself,  reverts  once  more  to  automa- 
tism. "To  be  sure,"  says  Rousseau,  "I  leave  him 
the  semblance  of  independence ;  but  his  subjection  to 
me  is  more  complete  than  ever,  because  he  wishes  it 
to  be  so.  So  long  as  I  could  not  make  myself  master 
of  his  will,  I  remained  master  of  his  body.  Now  I 
sometimes  leave  him  to  himself,  because  I  always 
govern  him.  When  I  leave  him,  I  embrace  him,  and 
say  in  a  confident  tone:  'Emile,  I  entrust  you  to  my 
friend;  I  commit  you  to  his  upright  heart:  he  will 
be  responsible  to  me  for  you.'"  On  the  very  next 
page,  however,  he  says :  "  Do  not  leave  him  alone  day 
or  night;  sleep,  at  the  very  least,  in  his  room.  See 
that  he  does  not  go  to  bed  until  he  is  overcome  with 
sleep,  and  that  he  gets  up  as  soon  as  he  awakes."  In 
this  state  of  complete  tutelage,  his  imagination  is  to 
be  filled  with  fairy-tales  of  his  future  spouse,  and 
glowing  descriptions  of  the  idyllic  life  of  love  ^  that 

1  Here  is  Rousseau's  notion  of  love:  "  What  is  true  love  itself 
but  chimera,  lie,  illusion?  We  love  far  more  the  image  which  we 
form  than  the  object  to  which  we  applj'  it.  If  we  saw  the  object  of 
our  love  exactly  as  it  is,  there  would  be  no  more  love  in  the  world." 


174  ROUSSEAU 

is  in  store  for  him  and  her.  Such  fanciful  pictures 
will  destroy  in  him  all  taste  for  real  women,  until  he 
can  be  induced  to  believe  that  he  has  met  one  corre- 
sponding to  his  chimera.  In  order  that  he  may  do 
this,  he  is  now,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  introduced 
into  society;  and  Kousseau  draws  a  vivid  contrast 
between  him,  in  his  noble,  savage  simplicity  and  ab- 
sence of  self-consciousness,  and  the  ordinary  youth  of 
his  time,  with  his  vanity  and  veneer  of  politeness. 
In  this  connection  he  quotes,  from  his  friend  Duclos, 
a  few  sentences  which  may  here  be  transcribed :  — 

"  The  most  unfortunate  effect  of  ordinary  politeness 
is,  that  it  teaches  the  art  of  dispensing  with  the 
virtues  which  it  imitates.  Let  education  inspire  us 
with  humanity  and  kindliness,  and  we  shall  either 
have  politeness,  or  else  no  need  for  it. 

"  If  we  have  not  that  politeness  which  is  marked 
by  the  graces,  we  shall  have  that  which  marks  the 
upright  man  and  the  citizen;  we  shall  not  need  to 
have  recourse  to  falseness. 

"Instead  of  being  artificial  in  order  to  please,  it 
will  be  enough  to  be  kind :  instead  of  being  false,  in 
order  to  flatter  others,  it  will  be  enough  to  be  indulgent. 

"  Those  with  whom  we  stand  in  such  relations  will 
be  neither  puffed  up  with  pride  nor  corrupted.  They 
will  only  be  grateful  and  become  better." 

ifimile,  thrown  into  society,  will  —  one  does  not  see 
how  —  find  himself  completely  at  home  in  it,  and  will 
at  once  earn  respect  and  confidence,  although  he  have 
no  brilliant  qualities.  In  studying  men,  "he  will 
often  have  occasion  to  reflect  on  what  flatters  or 
shocks  the  human  heart,  and  so  he  will  find  himself 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         175 

philosophizing  on  the  principles  of  taste  —  a  study 
suitable  for  this  stage  in  his  career."  Kousseau's 
aesthetic  theory  is  delightfully  simple :  "  The  further 
we  go  in  search  of  definitions  of  taste,"  he  says,  "the 
further  we  go  astray.  Taste  is  simply  the  faculty  of 
judging  what  pleases  or  displeases  the  greater  num- 
ber." Taste  depends,  at  bottom,  on  innate  sensibility; 
but  three  conditions  are  necessary  for  its  cultivation. 
"  First,  one  must  live  in  numerous  societies  in  order 
to  make  many  comparisons.  Second,  there  must  be 
societies  devoted  to  amusement  and  indolence;  for  in 
societies  devoted  to  business  the  rule  is  not  pleasure, 
but  interest.  Third,  there  must  be  societies  in  which 
the  inequality  of  conditions  is  not  too  great,  and  in 
which  pleasure,  rather  than  vanity,  prevails.  Where 
this  is  not  the  case,  fashion  stifles  taste,  and  people 
seek  no  longer  what  pleases,  but  what  distinguishes." 
In  seeking  to  cultivate  his  taste,  that  is,  the  art 
of  pleasing,  fimile  will  look  to  Nature,  rather  than  to 
Culture.  "There  is  at  present  no  civilized  place  in 
the  world  where  the  general  taste  is  worse  than  in 
Paris."  .  .  .  "Those  who  guide  us  are  the  artists, 
the  great,  the  rich;  and  what  guides  them  is  their  in- 
terest or  their  vanity.  The  rich,  in  order  to  display 
their  riches,  and  the  others,  in  order  to  profit  thereby, 
vie  with  one  another  in  seeking  out  new  means  of  ex- 
pense. In  this  way  excessive  luxury  establishes  its 
empire,  and  makes  people  love  what  is  difficult  and 
costly.  Then  the  pretended  beautiful,  far  from  imi- 
tating Nature,  is  beautiful  only  because  it  thwarts 
Nature.  This  is  why  luxury  and  bad  taste  are  insepa- 
rable.    Wherever  taste  is  expensive,  it  is  false." 


176  ROUSSEAU 

But  "it  is  chiefly  in  the  intercourse  between  the 
two  sexes  that  taste,  good  or  bad,  is  formed."  .  .  . 
"Consult  woman's  taste  in  physical  things,  things 
dependent  on  the  judgment  of  the  senses,  men's  in 
things  moral,  dependent  on  the  judgment  of  the  un- 
derstanding." ...  "  Inasmuch  as  it  is  necessary  to 
please  men,  in  order  to  serve  them ;  and  the  art  of 
writing  is  anything  but  a  useless  study,  when  it  is 
employed  to  make  them  listen  to  the  truth,"  fimile 
will  now  study  the  best  literary  models,  and  espe- 
cially the  works  of  the  ancients.  "  In  eloquence,  in 
poetry,  and  in  every  species  of  literature,  as  well  as 
in  history,  he  will  find  them  abounding  in  things,  and 
sober  in  judgment,  whereas  our  authors  speak  much 
and  say  little."  In  view  of  this,  he  will  now  learn 
Latin,  Greek,  and  Italian.  "  Latin  he  must  learn  in 
order  to  know  French  well."  .  .  .  "These  studies 
will  now  be  amusements  for  him,  and  he  will  profit 
by  them  all  the  more  that  he  is  not  forced  to  them." 
He  will  thus  "  go  back  to  the  sources  of  pure  litera- 
ture," and  learn  to  despise  "the  sewerage  in  the 
reservoirs  of  modern  compilers,  journals,  translations, 
dictionaries ;  he  will  cast  a  glance  at  all  that,  and  bid 
it  good-bye  forever."  As  to  the  babblings  of  acade- 
mies, they  will  merely  be  fun  to  him.  "  My  principal 
object,"  says  Rousseau,  in  conclusion,  "in  teaching 
him  to  feel  and  love  the  beautiful  in  all  its  forms,  is 
to  fix  his  affections  and  his  tastes,  to  prevent  his  nat- 
ural appetites  from  degenerating,  and  himself  from 
one  day  seeking  in  his  riches  the  means  of  happiness 
which  he  ought  to  find  nearer  home." 

Having  thus  become  acquainted  with  society,  and 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         177 

learnt  the  art  of  pleasing,  ifimile  is  now,  at  last,  in  a 
position  to  look  out  for  a  wife  in  good  earnest. 
"Therefore,  good-bye,  Paris,  famous  city,  city  of 
noise,  smoke,  and  mud,  where  the  women  no  longer 
believe  in  honor,  nor  the  men  in  virtue !  Good-bye, 
Paris!  We  are  in  quest  of  love,  happiness,  innocence. 
We  shall  never  be  far  enough  from  you." 

Lest  we  should  misunderstand  the  meaning  of  these 
last  words,  Rousseau  has  taken  care,  in  the  closing 
pages  of  this  book,  to  give  us  his  own  ideal  of  life. 
It  is  simply  that  of  an  accomplished  voluptuary, 
whose  aim  is  to  get  as  much  real  pleasure  (volupti 
rMle)  as  possible  out  of  life,  and  who,  therefore, 
avoids  everything  that  would  entail  envy,  strife,  and 
unpleasantness,  all  formalities  that  would  cause 
tedium,  and  all  excesses  that  would  diminish  the 
power  of  sensual  enjoyment.  He  tells  us,  indeed, 
that  he  is  here  speaking  "not  of  moral  possessions, 
which  relate  to  the  dispositions  of  the  soul,  but  to 
those  of  sensuality  and  real  pleasure,  in  which  preju- 
dice and  opinion  have  no  part."  We  know,  however, 
through  his  Confessions  and  otherwise,  that  morality 
meant  nothing  to  him  but  a  careful  calculation  of  the 
possibilities  of  undisturbed  sensual  enjoyment.  We 
may  fairly  conclude,  therefore,  that  the  aim  of  fimile's 
education,  thus  far,  has  been  to  prepare  him,  not  for 
a  life  of  earnest,  determined  moral  struggle  and  self- 
sacrifice,  but  for  a  life  of  quiet,  cleanly,  assured  sen- 
suous delight ;  not  for  a  life  of  active  enterprise,  but 
for  a  life  of  passive  dalliance. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES 

Youth 

{^mile,  Bk.  V.) 

Willst  du  genau  erfahren  was  sich  ziemt, 
So  frage  nur  bei  edeln  Frauen  an. 


GCETHB. 

And  manhood  fused  with  female  grace, 
In  such  a  sort,  the  child  would  twine 
A  trustful  hand,  unask'd,  in  thine, 

And  find  his  comfort  in  thy  face. 

Tennyson,  In  Memoriam^  CIX. 

Love  seeketh  not  its  own. 

Paul. 

Rousseau's  fimile  is  now  a  young  man,  whose 
chief  purpose  is  to  find  a  suitable  wife,  to  complete  his 
sensuous  happiness.  Rousseau,  like  all  sensualists, 
has  a  low  opinion  of  women.  They  live  in  their 
senses,  and  not  in  their  understanding.  While  man 
must  be  active  and  strong,  woman  must  be  passive 
and  weak.  "  The  one  must  necessarily  have  will  and 
power ;  it  is  enough  if  the  other  offer  but  little  resist- 
ance." .  ,.  . *Mt   follows  that  woman   is   made  to 

please  man."  ...  "If  woman  is  made  to  please 
man  and  to  be  subjugated,  she  must  make  herself 
agreeable  to  him,  instead  of  provoking  him :  her 
violence  lies  in  her  charms."  .  .  .     "The  minds  of 

173 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         179 

women  correspond  exactly  to  their  constitution.  Far 
from  being  ashamed  of  their  weakness,  they  glory  in 
it.  Their  tender  muscles  are  without  resistance,  they 
pretend  not  to  be  able  to  lift  the  lightest  burdens; 
they  would  be  ashamed  to  be  strong.  Why?  It  is 
certainly  not  for  the  sake  of  seeming  delicate ;  it  is 
from  a  far  shrewder  precaution :  they  are  preparing, 
a  long  way  beforehand,  excuses  for  being  weak,  and 
the  right  to  be  so  on  occasions."  .  .  .  "Thus  all  the 
education  of  women  must  have  relation  to  men.  To 
please  them,  to  be  useful  to  them,  to  rear  them  when 
they  are  young,  to  tend  them  when  they  are  grown, 
counsel  and  console  them,  to  make  their  lives  pleas- 
ant and  sweet,  — these  are  the  duties  of  women  in 
all  times,  and  what  they  ought  to  learn  from  earliest 
childhood."  .  .  .  "  Woman ^s_a.-co%aette  by  profes- 
sion; but  her  coquetry  changes  form  and  object 
according  to  her  views.  Let  us  regulate  these  views 
by  those  of  nature,  and  woman  will  have  the  educa- 
tion that  befits  her."  She  is  different  from  man  and 
has  different  functions ;  she  must,  therefore,  receive  a 
different  education.  Kousseau  has  much  to  say  about 
these  differences.  They  rest  largely  on  the  notion 
that  command  and  independence  belong  to  man;  obe- 
dience and  dependence  upon  woman.  While  he  is  to 
be  taught  to  be  strong,  and  defiant  of  public  opinion, 
she  must  learn  to  be  agreeable,  and  sensitive  to  such 
opinion.  "  Opinion  is  virtue's  tomb  among  men,  and 
its  throne  among  women."  At  the  same  time,  a  girl's 
education  must,  in  many  respects,  resemble  that  of  a 
boy.  She  must  at  first  have  plenty  of  exercise  and 
frolic.     "All  that  confines  and  constrains  Nature  is 


180  ROUSSEAU 

in  bad  taste;  this  is  as  true  of  the  decorations  of 
the  body  as  of  those  of  the  mind.  Life,  health,  rea- 
son, well-being,  must  take  precedence  of  everything. 
There  is  no  grace  without  ease ;  delicacy  is  not  languor; 
one  need  not  be  unhealthy  in  order  to  please."  The 
amusements  of  a  girl  will  be  gentler  than  those  of  a 
boy,  aiming  at  refinement  rather  than  strength.  In- 
stead of  learning  to  read  and  write,  as  girls  usually 
do,  she  will  play  with  dolls,  sew,  embroider,  make 
lace,  and  paint  flowers,  fruit,  and  such  things, 
carefully  avoiding  figures  and  landscapes.  A  little 
arithmetic  will  not  be  out  of  place.  "  Girls  must  be 
wide-awake  and  laborious ;  more  than  that,  they  mupt 
be  early  subjected  to  repression  (g^ne).  This  misfort 
une,  if  it  is  one  for  them,  is  inseparable  from  their 
sex;  and  they  can  free  themselves  from  it  only  by 
exposing  themselves  to  suffer  others  more  cruel.  All 
their  lives  they  will  be  subjected  to  the  most  continu- 
ous and  severe  repression,  that  of  propriety.  From 
the  first  they  must  be  exercised  in  constraint,  so  that 
it  may  never  cost  them  anything;  and  taught  to  over- 
come all  their  fancies,  in  order  to  subject  them  to  the 
will  of  others."  They  must  be  educated  at  home, 
under  the  eyes  of  their  parents,  and  "  never  for  one 
instant  in  their  lives  be  allowed  not  to  feel  the  bridle." 
"Accustom  them  to  be  interrupted  in  the  midst  of 
their  games,  and  to  be  carried  off  to  other  occupations 
without  a  murmur."  .  .  .  "From  this  habitual  con- 
straint there  results  a  docility,  which  women  have 
need  of  all  their  lives,  since  they  never  cease  to  be 
subjected  either  to  a  man  or  to  the  judgments  of  men, 
without  their  ever  being  allowed  to  set  themselves 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         181 

above  these  judgments.  The  first  and  most  important 
attribute  of  a  woman  is  sweetness.  Being  made  to 
obey  an  imperfect  being  like  man,  often  so  full  of 
vices,  and  always  so  full  of  faults,  she  must  early  learn 
to  submit  even  to  injustice,  and  to  bear  the  misdeeds 
of  a  husband  without  complaining."  .  .  .  "She  must 
never  scold."  Her  weapon  of  defence  is  cleverness 
or  address.  If  she  were  not  artful,  she  would  be 
man's  slave.  She  must,  therefore,  cultivate  artful- 
ness. "  Let  us  not  destroy  the  instruments  of  happi- 
ness, because  the  wicked  use  them  for  mischief." 
A  girl  is  to  cultivate  taste,  but  to  be  simple  in  her 
adornments.  Setting  fashion  at  defiance,  she  will 
consider  only  what  is  becoming  to  her,  what  makes 
her  pleasing.  She  must  not  try  to  be  a  mediaeval 
saint,  knowing  only  the  command  Ora  et  labora,  nor 
"live  like  a  grandmother.  She  must  be  lively, 
hearty,  merry;  she  must  sing  and  dance  to  her  heart's 
content,  and  enjoy  all  the  innocent  pleasures  of  her 
years."  Her  singing  must  not  be  of  the  professional 
sort,  but  simple  and  natural;  and  she  may  learn  to 
play  her  own  accompaniments  "  without  being  able  to 
read  a  single  note."  Since  "the  talent  for  conversa- 
tion takes  the  first  place  in  the  art  of  pleasing,"  she 
must  early  acquire  it.  "While  a  man  speaks  what 
he  knows,  a  woman  speaks  what  pleases.  In  order 
to  talk,  the  one  requires  knowledge,  the  other  taste; 
the  object  of  the  one  should  be  useful  things,  that 
of  the  other,  agreeable  things."  .  .  .  "We  ought 
not,  therefore,  to  stop  the  chatter  of  girls,  as  we 
would  do  that  of  boys,  by  the  question :  What  is  the 
use  of  that  ?  but  with  this  one,  which  is  not  more 


182  ROUSSEAU 

easy  to  answer :  What  effect  will  that  produce  ? " 
.  .  .  "They  must  make  it  a  rule  never  to  say 
anything  but  what  is  agreeable  to  those  with 
whom  they  talk."  At  the  same  time,  they  must 
never  lie. 

Religion  ought  to  be  taught  earlier  to  girls  than  to 
boys,  —  the  religion  of  their  parents.  "  Since  the 
conduct  of  woman  is  enslaved  to  public  opinion,  her 
belief  is  enslaved  to  authority.  Every  girl  ought  to 
follow  the  religion  of  her  mother,  and  every  wife  that 
of  her  husband.  If  this  religion  be  false,  the  docility 
which  makes  the  mother  and  the  daughter  submit  to 
the  order  of  Nature  wipes  out,  in  God's  sight,  the  sin 
of  error.  Being  incapable  of  judging  for  themselves, 
they  ought  to  accept  the  decision  of  their  fathers  and 
husbands,  as  that  of  the  Church."  .  .  .  "Since 
authority  must  regulate  the  religion  of  women,  it  is  of 
less  importance  to  explain  to  them  the  grounds  you 
have  for  believing  than  to  set  clearly  before  them 
what  you  do  believe,"  .  .  .  "When  you  explain 
articles  of  faith  to  them,  let  it  be  done  in  the  form  of 
direct  instruction.  In  replying,  they  must  say  only 
what  they  think,  not  what  has  been  dictated  to  them. 
All  the  answers  in  the  catechism  are  preposterous:  it 
is  the  scholar  instructing  the  teacher.  They  are  even 
lies  in  the  mouths  of  children."  In  religious  instruc- 
tion no  notice  should  be  taken  of  those  dogmas  which 
have  no  direct  bearing  on  practice.  "  That  a  virgin 
is  the  mother  of  her  Creator;  that  she  gave  birth  to 
God,  or  merely  to  a  man  with  whom  God  united  him- 
self; that  the  Father  and  the  Son  have  the  same  sub- 
stance,  or  only  a  similar  one ;  that  the  Holy  Spirit 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         183 

proceeds  from  one  of  the  two  who  are  the  same,  or 
from  the  two  conjointly  —  I  do  not  see  that  the  de- 
cision of  these  questions,  in  appearance  essential,  is 
of  any  more  importance  to  the  human  race  than  to 
know  on  what  day  of  the  moon  Easter  ought  to  be 
celebrated,  whether  we  ought  to  say  the  rosary,  fast, 
eat  fish  and  eggs,  speak  Latin  or  French  in  church, 
adorn  the  walls  with  images,  say  or  listen  to  mass; 
and  have  no  wife  of  one's  own.  Let  everybody  think 
about  these  things  as  he  pleases.  I  do  not  know  how 
far  they  may  interest  other  people ;  they  do  not  inter- 
est me  at  all.  But  what  interests  me,  and  others  like 
me,  is,  that  every  one  should  know  that  there  exists 
an  arbiter  of  the  lot  of  men,  whose  children  we  all 
are,  who  orders  us  all  to  be  just,  to  love  one  another, 
to  be  kindly  and  merciful,  to  keep  our  agreements 
with  everybody,  even  with  our  enemies  and  his;  that 
the  apparent  happiness  of  this  life  is  nothing;  that 
after  it  there  comes  another,  in  which  this  Supreme 
Being  will  be  the  rewarder  of  the  good  and  the  judge 
of  the  wicked.  These  are  the  dogmas  which  it  is 
important  to  teach  young  people,  and  to  impress  upon 
all  citizens.  Any  one  who  contests  them  certainly 
deserves  punishment;  he  is  the  disturber  of  order,  and 
the  enemy  of  society.  Whoever  goes  beyond  them, 
and  seeks  to  subject  us  to  his  private  opinions,  comes 
to  the  same  point  by  an  opposite  path :  to  establish 
order  after  his  fashion,  he  disturbs  the  peace;  in  his 
forward  pride  he  makes  himself  the  interpreter  of  the 
Divinity;  he  demands,  in  his  name,  the  homage  and 
respect  of  men,  and  puts  himself,  as  far  as  he  can,  in 
the  place  of  God.     He  ought  to  be  punished  for  sac- 


184  ROUSSEAU 

rilege,  if  not  for  intolerance."^  "Ignore,  therefore," 
lie  continues,  "  all  those  mysterious  dogmas  which  are 
for  us  words  without  ideas."  .  .  .  "Keep  your  chil- 
dren always  within  the  narrow  circle  of  those  dogmas 
which  relate  to  morality.  Persuade  them  that  there 
is  nothing  useful  for  us  to  know  but  what  teaches  us 
to  do  good.  Do  not  make  your  daughters  theologians 
or  reasoners ;  .  .  .  accustom  them  to  feel  themselves 
under  the  eyes  of  God,  to  take  him  as  witness  of  all 
their  actions  and  thoughts,  of  their  virtue  and  pleas- 
ures ;  to  do  good  without  ostentation,  because  he  loves 
it;  to  suffer  evil  without  a  murmur,  because  he  will 
one  day  make  it  up  to  them ;  ^  finally,  to  be,  during 
all  the  days  of  their  life,  what  they  would  wish  to 
have  been,  when  they  shall  appear  before  him.  This 
is  the  true  religion ;  this  is  the  only  one  that  is  liable 
to  neither  abuse,  impiety,  nor  fanaticism.  Let  others 
preach  sublimer  ones  as  much  as  they  please;  I  know 
of  none  but  this." 

But  though,  according  to  Rousseau,  women  are  des- 
titute of  reason,  such  as  would  enable  them  to  discuss 
questions  of  theology  and  ethics,  yet  they  have  some- 
thing which  takes  its  place.  "  There  exists,  for  the 
whole  human  race,  a  rule  anterior  to  opinion."  .  .  . 
"  It  judges  prejudice  even ;  and  it  is  only  in  so  far  as 
the  judgment  of  men  agrees  with  it,  that  this  judg- 

1  This  somewhat  lengthy  quotation  has  heen  made  with  the  view 
of  bringing  out  three  things :  (1)  Rousseau's  religious  views ;  (2)  his 
ethical  sanctions,  which  are  of  a  supernatural  sort ;  (3)  his  religious 
intolerance,  which  matches  even  that  of  Calvin,  and  reveals  the 
unphilosophical  fanatic.    Cf.  p.  215. 

2  In  ethics  Rousseau  never  rises  above  this  other-worldly  self- 
interest.    Of  nobility,  as  an  end,  he  has  no  notion. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         185 

ment  can  be  authoritative  for  us.  This  rule  is  the 
inner  sentiment."  It  follows  from  this,  that  the 
moral  guide  of  women  is,  after  all,  a  subjective  feel- 
ing. How  treacherous  this  may  be,  when  separated 
from  reason,  hardly  needs  to  be  remarked.  It  must 
be  admitted,  however,  that  Rousseau  rarely  appeals 
to  it.  Religion  and  ethics  are  with  him  mostly 
matters  of  rhetoric;  his  real  sanctions  are  always 
happiness  and  self-interest.  He  is  a  hedonist  of  the 
first  rank.  "The  consideration  of  duty,"  he  says, 
"  has  force  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  supported  by  motives 
that  prompt  us  to  fulfil  it." 

We  are  now  introduced  to  Sophie,  the  young  woman 
who,  for  a  long  time,  has  been  in  process  of  education 
on  these  principles,  with  a  view  to  union  with  Emile. 
She  is,  for  a  woman,  what  fimile  is,  for  a  man.  She 
has  had  the  education  of  Nature.  Her  parents,  people 
of  good  family,  and  once  rich,  having  lost  the  bulk  of 
their  property,  have  retired  to  a  charming  situation 
in  the  country,  where  they  have  led  a  simple  and 
retired  life,  and  reared  their  only  daughter.  This 
daughter  is  described  to  us  at  great  length.  She  is 
good-natured,  sensitive,  imaginative,  attractive  but 
not  pretty;  she  has  a  sweet  expression,  a  fine  com- 
plexion, a  white  hand,  a  tiny  foot,  and  a  touching 
physiognomy.  She  is  fond  of  adornment,  and  dresses 
well.  "  Her  attire  is  very  modest  in  appearance,  and 
very  coquettish  in  fact."  She  has  natural  talents. 
She  sings  sweetly  and  tastefully;  she  walks  lightly 
and  gracefully;  she  makes  pretty  curtsies.  She  is 
well  versed  in  all  feminine  occupations ;  she  cuts  and 
makes   her  own   clothes,    and   manufactures    lace  — 


186  ROUSSEAU 

"because  there  is  no  other  occupation  that  imparts  a 
more  agreeable  attitude,  or  in  which  the  fingers  are 
plied  with  more  grace  and  lightness  " !  She  can  keep 
house;  but,  though  she  is  fond  of  good  things  to  eat, 
she  does  not  like  cooking,  because  it  is  not  altogether 
cleanly.  In  this  matter  she  is  extremely  fastidious. 
"  She  would  rather  let  a  whole  dinner  burn  up  than 
have  a  spot  on  her  cuff."  She  likes  pastry  and  sweets, 
but  cares  little  for  meat.  She  is  agreeable,  without 
being  brilliant,  gay  without  being  boisterous,  sensi- 
tive, but  easily  pacified  and  forgiving.  She  has  a 
simple,  rational  religion,  with  few  dogmas,  and  yet 
fewer  devotional  exercises.  She  devotes  her  life  to 
serving  God  by  doing  good;  she  loves  virtue  with 
devouring  passion  —  because  there  is  nothing  so  beau- 
tiful as  virtue.  She  knows  all  the  duties  of  both 
sexes,  and  longs  to  make  one  upright  man  happy. 
She  never  speaks  ill  of  any  one,  and  never  uses  vain 
forms  of  politeness.  She  hates  officious  gallantry, 
and,  though  rather  short,  does  not  wear  high  heels. 
She  receives  the  flirtatious  compliments  of  young 
men  "with  an  ironical  applause  which  disconcerts." 
When  she  reaches  marriageable  age,  she  receives 
an  instructive  lecture  from  her  father,  and  makes  a 
confidante  of  her  mother.  She  reads  by  chance  Fene- 
lon's  Tilemaque  and  falls  in  love  with  the  hero,  whose 
image  makes  all  the  young  men  she  knows  distasteful 
to  her.  In  this  situation  she  exclaims :  "  Let  us  not 
think  that  a  lovable  and  virtuous  man  is  6nly  a  chi- 
mera. He  exists,  he  lives ;  he  is  perhaps  looking  for 
me  —  looking  for  a  soul  that  can  love  him.  But  what 
is  he?     Where  is  he  ?     I  do  not  know;  he  is  not 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         187 

among  those  whom  I  have  seen,  and  surely  will  not 
be  among  those  whom  I  shall  see.  O  mother !  why 
have  you  made  virtue  too  dear  to  me?  If  I  can  love 
but  it,  the  fault  is  yours  rather  than  mine !  " 

She  is  now  ready  for  fimile,  and  ^mile  is  ready  for 
her.  They  must,  therefore,  be  brought  together,  butr 
without  their  knowing  that  this  is  done  intentionally. 
Everything  is  arranged  behind  their  backs,  and  they, 
with  all  their  supposed  penetration,  —  now  height- 
ened by  budding  passion,  —  are  mere  innocent  dupes. 
Smile's  tutor,  as  the  representative  of  Nature,  claims 
the  sole  right  of  arranging  for  his  marriage.  "  It  is 
not  I,"  he  says,  "who  destine  them  for  each  other;  it 
is  Nature;  my  business  is  to  discover  her  choice.  I 
say  *my  business,'  and  not  his  father's.  In  entrust- 
ing his  son  to  me,  he  yields  me  his  place,  puts  my 
right  in  place  of  his  own:  it  is  I  who  am  Emile's  real 
father;  it  is  I  who  have  made  him  a  man.  I  should 
have  refused  to  bring  him  up,  had  I  not  been  per- 
mitted to  marry  him  according  to  his  own,  that  is, 
to  my,  choice." 

r  Before  bringing  the  future  lovers  together,  Eousseau 
enters,  at  some  length,  into  the  conditions  of  a  happy 
marriage,  the  semi-sensuous,  dalliant  delights  of  which 
are  to  him  the  all-in-all  of  life.^  The  details  of  these 
do  not  concern  us  here ;  but  three  points  may  be  noted. 
He  holds  (1)  that,  while  natural  love  should  be  the 

1  It  is  impossible  not  to  feel,  in  all  Rousseau's  descriptions  of 
wedded  bliss,  that  he  has  before  his  mind  his  own  life  with  Madame 
de  Warens  at  Les  Charmettes.  He  seems  to  be  continually  compar- 
ing that  with  his  life  with  The'rese,  and  asking  by  what  means  the 
former  could  be  rendered  permanent.  The  abode  of  Sophie's 
parents  is  just  Les  Charmettes.    See  p.  45. 


188  ROUSSEAU 

determining  motive  of  marriage,  similarity  of  tastes 
and  culture  should  not  be  disregarded ;  (2)  that  great 
beauty  should  be  avoided,  rather  than  sought,  by  a 
man  in  wooing;  (3)  that  a  woman  with  anything  like 
a  literary  or  scientific  education  is  to  be  avoided  like 
a  pestilence.  "  A  woman  of  culture  "  {bel  esprit)^  he 
says,  "  is  the  plague  of  her  husband,  her  children,  her 
friends,  her  servants,  everybody." 

At  the  proper  moment,  ^fimile  and  his  tutor  joyously 
shake  the  dust  of  corrupt  and  corrupting  Paris  from 
their  feet,  and  start  on  a  foot-tour,  without  any  fixed 
destination.  Kousseau's  description  of  this  tour,  and 
its  manifold  fresh,  simple  delights,  is  masterly.  Per- 
haps no  man  that  ever  lived  knew  the  sensuous  charms 
of  free  Nature,  and  of  vagabond  freedom,  so  well  as 
he,  and  no  one  ever  described  them  in  such  glowing 
terms.  After  a  few  days,  the  wanderers  lose  their 
way  (they  are  always  conveniently  doing  that!)  and 
have  to  appeal  to  a  kindly  peasant  for  food.  When 
they  part  with  him,  he  says :  "  If  God  had  graciously 
guided  you  to  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  you  would 
have  had  a  better  reception ;  you  would  have  found  a 
house  of  peace  —  such  charitable,  such  good  people ! 
They  have  no  better  heart  than  mine;  but  they  are 
better  off,  although  I  am  told  they  were  much  more  so 
formerly.  .  .  .  They  don't  suffer,  thank  God,  and 
all  the  country  round  is  better  for  what  is  left." 
!fimile,  of  course,  comes  up  to  the  occasion,  being  a 

1  It  is  needless  to  say  that  this  speech  has  been  prearranged 
with  a  view  to  producing  upon  ^mile  a  favorable  impression  of 
these  people.  It  implies  in  Rousseau  a  correct  knowledge  of  sug- 
gestive psychology. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         189 

most  satisfactory  puppet.  "At  these  words  about 
good  people,  fimile's  kind  heart  expands.  'Master/ 
he  says,  looking  at  me,  'let  us  go  to  this  house  whose 
owners  are  blessed  in  the  neighborhood.  I  should  be 
glad  to  see  them ;  perhaps  they  would  be  glad  to  see 
us  too.  I  am  sure  they  will  receive  us  well.  If  they 
are  ours,  we  shall  be  theirs.'"  They,  accordingly, 
repair  to  the  house,  and  are  most  graciously  received, 
so  graciously,  indeed,  that  fimile,  so  often  duped  for 
his  benefit,  exclaims,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart: 
"  Why,  one  would  think  we  had  been  expected !  How 
right  the  peasant  was!  What  attention!  What 
kindness!  What  foresight!  And  for  strangers!  I 
could  imagine  myself  in  the  time  of  Homer."  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  we  are  in  the  home  of  Sophie, 
for  whom  ^fimile's  imagination  has  so  long  been 
prepared. 

Sophie  duly  appears,  behaves  properly  and  sweetly, 
and  the  two  fall  in  love  with  each  other  almost  at  first 
sight.  The  details  of  their  courtship  do  not  belong 
here.  They  form  a  charming  idyl,  one  of  the  most 
charming  ever  written,  which  has  only  one  drawback : 
the  characters  are  all  puppets,  whose  wires  are  in  the 
hands  of  the  all-knowing,  all-designing  tutor,  fimile 
and  this  tutor  establish  themselves  in  a  town  some 
two  leagues  distant  from  Sophie's  home,  and  she,  with 
the  consent  of  her  parents,  allows  them  to  visit  her 
about  twice  a  week.  The  tutor  takes  care  that  things 
shall  not  proceed  very  rapidly;  indeed,  he  prolongs 
the  season  of  wooing  as  much  as  he  can,  on  the  ground 
that  love's  "supreme  bliss  is  a  hundred  times  sweeter 
to  look  forward  to  than  to  enjoy."    Meanwhile,  fimile 


190  ROUSSEAU 

is  spending  his  time  in  examining  the  surrounding 
country,  in  entering  into  relations  with  peasants, 
learning  their  needs,  giving  them  aid  and  instruction, 
showing  his  ability  in  ploughing  and  in  the  arts  of 
agriculture,  earning  his  daily  bread  by  working  as  a 
carpenter,  and  in  playing  Lord  Bountiful  generally. 
At  the  end  of  two  months,  an  engagement  takes  place, 
and  Emile  is  in  the  seventh  heaven.  He  still  remains 
in  Sophie's  neighborhood,  and  is  now  allowed  to  visit 
her  more  frequently.  He  sings,  plays,  races,  and 
dances  with  her,  mends  her  piano,  teaches  her  phi- 
losophy,^ physics,  mathematics,  history;  indeed, 
everything  he  knows.  They  draw  and  paint  together, 
and  decorate  Sophie's  home  with  the  results.  At  the 
end  of  three  months,  fimile  fondly  thinks  that  the 
consummation  of  all  his  hopes  is  near.  But  alas !  his 
tutor,  whom  he  has  undertaken  to  obey,  has  a  bitter 
disappointment  in  store  for  him.  He  must  postpone 
the  realization  of  his  dearest  wishes,  control  his  pas- 
sion, and  leave  Sophie  for  two  years.  He  is  not  ready 
to  marry.  He  does  not  know  either  himself  or  Sophie 
sufficiently ;  he  has  not  sufficiently  realized  the  duties 
of  husband  and  father ;  he  has  almost  no  acquaintance 
with  social  and  political  relations.  The  tutor,  who 
has  hitherto  spoken  and  acted  like  an  optimistic  Epi- 
curean, declaring  that  his  sole  desire  was  to  secure 
the  happiness  of  his  pupil,  ^  now  suddenly  changes  his 
tone  and  adopts  that  of  a  severe,  pessimistic  Stoic. 

1  Here  Rousseau  is  careful  to  tell  us  that  "  the  art  of  thinking  is 
not  foreign  to  women ;  but  they  must  do  no  more  than  graze  the 
sciences  of  reasoning." 

2  He  says,  in  so  many  words:  "  I  have  not  educated  my  i^mile 
to  desire  or  to  wait,  but  to  enjoy." 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         191 

Man  must  rise  above  his  natural  desires  and  passions, 
and  take  Reason  for  his  guide.     He  must  detach  him- 
self from  all  dependence  upon  transient  and  earthly- 
things,  and  be  prepared  for  every  change  of  fortune. 
The  man  "  who  has  no  laws  but  the  wishes  of  his 
heart,  and  can  resist  no  desire,"  is  guilty  of  a  crime. 
"Who,   then,    is   the  virtuous   man?      He  who   can 
govern  his  affections ;  for  then  he  follows  reason  and 
conscience.     He  does  his  duty,  and  nothing  can  make 
him  swerve  from  it."  .   .   .     "All  the  passions  are 
good,  so  long  as  we  are  masters  of  them  j  all  are  bad, 
as  soon  as  we  become  enslaved  to  them."  .  .   .     "All 
the  feelings  which  we  master  are  legitimate ;  all  those 
which  master  us  are  criminal.     A  man  is  not  to  blame 
for  loving  his  neighbor's  wife,  so  long  as  he  keeps  his 
unfortunate  passion  in  subjection  to  the  law  of  duty; 
he  is  to  blame  for  loving  his  own  wife,  when  he  goes 
so  far  as  to  sacrifice  everything  to  this  love."  .  .  . 
"  If  you  wish  to  live  virtuous  and  wise,  let  your  heart 
cleave  only  to  the  beauty  that  perishes  not,   .  .  .  ex- 
tend the  law  of  necessity  to  things  moral;  learn  to 
lose  what  may  be  taken  away;  to  give  up  all  at  the 
command  of  virtue,  and  to  place  yourself  beyond  the 
reach  of  events."  .  .   .     "Then  you  will  be  happy  in 
spite  of  fortune,  and  self-controlled  in  spite  of  pas- 
sion.    Then  you  will  find  in  the  possession  of  tran- 
sient things  a  delight  which   nothing   can   disturb. 
You  will  possess  them,  without  their  possessing  you, 
and  you  will  come  to  feel  that  man,  from  whom  every- 
thing drops  away,  enjoys  only  that  which  he  knows 
how  to  lose."     fimile  is,  of  course,  outraged,  at  such 
unwonted  talk,    and  declares  that  he  cannot  leave 


192  ROUSSEAU 

Sophie  without  being  "  a  traitor,  a  scoundrel,  and  a 
perjurer."  The  tutor  lets  him  vent  his  first  indigna- 
tion, and  then  continues,  saying,  among  other  things : 
"Sensual  happiness  is  transient."  .  .  .  "The  imagi- 
nation, which  tricks  out  the  objects  of  desire,  leaves 
them  bare,  when  they  become  objects  of  possession. 
Except  the  one  self -existent  Being,  there  is  nothing 
beautiful  but  what  is  not.  If  your  present  condition 
could  have  lasted  always,  you  would  have  found  the 
supreme  good.  But  all  that  relates  to  man  withers 
as  he  does;  all  is  finite,  all  is  transient  in  human 
life."  .  .  .  "Not  yet  trained  to  battle  with  himself, 
not  yet  accustomed  to  desire  one  thing  and  will 
another,  the  young  man  refuses  to  yield;  he  resists 
and  disputes."  He  does  not  see  why  he  must  go 
away;  or,  if  he  must  go,  why  he  cannot  make  sure 
of  Sophie,  by  marrying  her  first.  The  tutor  points 
out  to  him  the  impropriety  of  leaving  a  wife,  and, 
when  Smile  still  recalcitrates,  puts  an  end  to  further 
dispute  by  a  fiat  of  authority.  "  Since  you  will  not 
obey  reason,"  he  says,  "then  recognize  another  mas- 
ter. You  have  not  forgotten  the  compact  which  you 
entered  into  with  me.  ^fimile,  you  must  leave  Sophie : 
I  desire  it."  At  this  the  young  man  yields,  and  their 
departure  is  fixed  for  a  week  later. 

Sophie  and  her  parents  have  to  be  won  over  to  the 
new  scheme,  and  this  is  a  matter  of  no  small  diffi- 
culty. Sophie  tries  to  bear  up  under  her  sad  trial, 
but  in  secret  weeps  and  wails  in  spite  of  herself.  The 
tutor  comforts  and  reassures  her ;  and  one  day  says  to 
her:  "Sophie,  exchange  books  with  [fimile.  Give 
him  your  Tilimaque,  in  order  that  he  may  learn  to  be 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES         193 

like  him;  and  let  him  give  you  the  Spectator,  which 
you  are  so  fond  of  reading.  Study  in  it  the  duties  of 
virtuous  women,  and  think  that  in  two  years  these 
duties  will  be  yours."  The  lovers  at  last  part  in  this 
fashion:  "]Smile,  impatient,  ardent,  agitated,  beside 
himself,  shrieks,  sheds  torrents  of  tears  on  the  hands 
of  father,  mother,  and  daughter,  embraces  with  sobs 
all  the  people  in  the  house,  and  repeats  the  same 
things  over  and  over  again  a  thousand  times,  with  a 
disorder  that  would  excite  laughter  on  any  other  oc- 
casion.^ Sophie,  sad,  pale,  with  lustreless  eye  and 
mournful  look,  remains  quiet,  utters  not  a  word, 
weeps  not,  sees  no  one,  not  even  Smile.  In  vain  he 
takes  her  hands,  and  clasps  her  in  his  arms;  she  re- 
mains motionless  and  insensible  to  his  tears,  his 
caresses,  to  everything  that  he  does.  How  much 
more  touching  this  object  is  than  the  importunate 
wails  and  noisy  regrets  of  her  lover!  He  sees  it, 
feels  it,  is  torn  by  it.  I  have  difficulty  in  dragging 
him  off.  If  I  leave  him  a  moment,  I  shall  never 
get  him  to  leave.  I  am  delighted  that  he  carries  with 
him  this  sad  image.  If  ever  he  is  tempted  to  forget 
what  he  owes  to  Sophie,  and  I  recall  her  to  his  mind, 
as  he  saw  her  at  the  moment  of  his  departure,  his 
heart  will  have  to  be  sadly  alienated,  if  I  cannot  bring 
him  back  to  her." 

There  may  be  differences  of  opinion  in  regard  to 
the  value  of  travelling  at  this  juncture  in  a  young 
man's  life;  but  there  can  hardly  be  any  in  regard  to 
the  method  by  which  ]fimile  is  induced,  or  rather 
forced,  to  undertake  it.     That  a  young  man  who,  up 

1  il^mile  did,  indeed,  need  to  learn  self-coDtrol. 
o 


194  ROUSSEAU 

to  the  age  of  twenty-two,  has  always  followed,  or 
thought  he  followed,  his  own  inclination,  should 
suddenly  be  commanded  to  set  his  strongest  inclina- 
tion at  defiance,  is  a  piece  of  the  most  wanton  tyranny 
and  cruelty,  an  attempt  to  reap  where  one  has  not 
sowed.  That  the  young  man,  who  does  not  know 
what  obedience  means,  and  who  does  not  see  his  own 
interest  or  utility  in  what  he  is  called  upon  to  do, 
should  obey,  is  not  only  extremely  improbable,  but 
very  discreditable,  showing  that  he  has  not  escaped 
from  the  tyranny  of  his  fellows,  or  become  self- 
determining.  He  has  taken  a  vow,  like  a  mediaeval 
monk,  and  is  still  subject  to  "obedience."^  Still 
more  improbable  and  discreditable  is  it  that  he  should 
suddenly  exchange  his  life-long,  thoughtless,  joyous 
optimism  for  a  gloomy,  disheartening,  brooding  pes- 
simism, to  which 

"  The  world  is  all  a  passing  show, 
Forman's  illusion  given." 

But  the  worst  feature  of  the  whole  matter  is  that, 
while  calling  upon  his  pupil  to  obey  the  voice  of 
reason  and  conscience,  Rousseau  shows  no  reason 
why  this  voice  should  be  obeyed,  any  more  than  the 
voice  of  passion  and  interest.  So  far  as  we  are 
shown,  both  are  equally  subjective  and  blind,  and 
there  is  no  third  faculty  to  be  umpire  between  them. 
The  moral  law  cannot  remain  a  mere  ungrounded 
"categorical  imperative,"  but  must  be  shown  to  be 

1  It  is  astonishing  how  many  of  the  worst  features  of  mediaeval- 
ism —  religious  intolerance,  mystic  fanaticism,  vows,  confession, 
etc. —  still  survive  in  Rousseau.  He  had  learnt  much  from  the 
Jesuits. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES        195 

the  expression  of  man's  essential  relations  to  the  uni- 
verse. This,  however,  cannot  be  shown  without  a 
profound,  painfully  acquired,  scientific  knowledge  of 
the  world,  and  of  man,  as  a  cooperant,  essentially 
social  member  of  the  same,  nor  without  a  carefully 
reasoned  philosophy  resting  on  this  knowledge;  and 
with  these  conditions,  Rousseau,  in  his  supercilious, 
unsocial  subjectivism,  claiming  for  itself  supernatural 
inspiration,  would  have  nothing  to  do.^  It  is  not, 
therefore,  wonderful  that  he  landed  in  all  sorts  of 
contradictions,  and,  in  the  end,  proved  unfaithful  to 
his  own  principles. 

^fimile  leaves  his  Sophie,  and  sets  out  upon  his 
travels,  still  accompanied  by  his  despotic  tutor.  The 
purpose  of  these  travels  is  ostensibly  one  of  self-inter- 
est,  —  to  enable  Emile  to  discover  the  country  in 
which  he  can  settle  down  to  quiet  family  life,  with 
the  best  hope  of  independence  and  liberty.  Rousseau 
holds  that  every  man,  when  he  comes  to  the  age  of 
discretion,  has  a  right  to  choose  his  country.  He 
tells  us  very  little  about  Emile's  travels;  but  he  says 
many  wise  things  regarding  the  value  and  method  of 
travelling,  as  a  means  of  education.  Its  value  lies  in  1 
the  fact  that  it  does  away  with  local  and  national  ' 
prejudices,  puts  experience  in  place  of  imagination, 
widens  the  sympathies,  enables  one  to  distinguish 
humanity  under  all  guises,  to  reject  what  is  accidental  / 
and  spurious  in  it,  and  to  cling  to  what  is  natural  and 

1  Any  one  who  claims  a  knowledge  of  theoretic  or  ethical  princi- 
ples, not  grounded  on  experience,  must  be  regarded  as  claiming 
inspiration.  Even  Kant,  with  his  Rousselian  "  categorical  impera* 
tive  "  was  not  exempt  from  this  weakness. 


196  ROUSSEAU 

genuine.  Its  method  is  that  which  brings  the  trav- 
eller most  directly  and  closely  in  contact  with  the 
people  of  each  country,  enabling  him  to  learn  their 
language  and  become  acquainted  with  their  habits, 
customs,  and  ways  of  regarding  things.  The  method 
of  the  ordinary  tourist,  whose  main  objects  are  scen- 
ery, cities,  churches,  galleries,  museums,  and  public 
exhibitions,  is  altogether  to  be  eschewed.  Cities  and 
city-people  are  pretty  much  the  same  all  over  Europe : 
they  are  all  equally  depraved  by  culture.  "  It  is  the 
country  (campagne)  that  makes  the  country  (pays), 
and  the  country  people  that  make  the  nation."  .  .  . 
"It  is  always  in  capitals  that  human  blood  is  sold 
cheapest.  Thus  one  becomes  acquainted  only  with 
the  great  peoples,  and  the  great  peoples  are  all  alike." 
...  "  The  Europeans  are  no  longer  Gauls,  Germans, 
Iberians,  Allobroges ;  they  are  merely  Scythians  that 
have  variously  degenerated  in  face,  and  still  more 
in  morals."  ]Emile,  therefore,  will  merely  glance  at 
cities,  and  spend  most  of  his  time  in  remote  country 
districts,  where  the  people  are  still  simple  and  unde- 
praved.  And  he  will  not  merely  see  and  hear:  he 
will  also  think.  With  his  tutor  he  will  discuss  the 
origin  and  nature  of  social  institutions,  and  of  those 
relations  and  duties  that  arise  under  them.  In  this 
matter,  little  aid  can  be  derived  from  books.  "  Politi- 
cal Right  is  a  science  which  has  yet  to  be  born ;  and 
we  may  presume  it  never  will  be  born.  Grotius,  the 
master  of  all  our  scholars  in  this  matter,  is  but  a 
baby,  and,  what  is  worse,  a  baby  of  bad  faith.  When 
I  hear  Grotius  lauded  to  the  skies,  and  Hobbes  loaded 
with  execrations,  I  see  how  much  sensible  men  read 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES        197 

or  understand  of  these  authors.  The  truth  is,  their 
principles  are  exactly  similar;  they  differ  only  in 
expression.  They  differ  also  in  method.  Hobbes 
takes  his  stand  on  sophisms,  Grotius  on  the  poets; 
all  the  rest  they  have  in  common."  .  .  .  "The  only 
modern  man  who  might  have  created  this  great  and 
useful  science,  was  the  famous  Montesquieu.  But 
he  never  thought  of  dealing  with  the  principles  of 
political  right:  he  stopped  short  with  the  positive 
right  of  established  governments ;  and  no  two  things 
in  the  world  are  more  different  than  these  two  studies." 
Such  being  the  condition  of  things,  fimile^s  tutor  must 
help  himself,  as  best  he  can,  by  means  of  original 
thinking. 

It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  the  above  criticisms  of 
Hobbes,  Grotius,  and  Montesquieu  are,  in  the  main, 
correct,  and  that  to  Eousseau  himself  is  due  a  large 
share  of  the  credit  for  originating  the  science  of  Politi- 
cal Eight.  With  all  its  obvious  mistakes,  his  Social 
Contract  was  an  epoch-making  book.  We  need  not 
wonder,  therefore,  that  the  questions  which  fimile  is 
led  to  consider  are,  in  the  main,  those  dealt  with  and 
answered  in  that  book,  or  that  he  comes  to  the  conclu- 
sions therein  reached.  Rousseau  plainly  admits  this; 
and  whatever  we  may  think  of  these  conclusions,  we 
ought  cheerfully  to  admit  that  hardly  any  book  more 
provocative  of  thought  —  and  such  provocativeness  is 
the  greatest  merit  of  any  decent  book  —  could  be  put 
into  the  hands  of  a  young  man  of  serious  mind.  If, 
while  reading  it,  he  have  a  wise  and  learned  guide, 
he  will  see  the  extreme  importance  of  the  questions 
broached,  and  be  led  to  inquiries  and  considerations 


198  ROUSSEAU 

whicli  will  reveal  to  him  the  fallacies  involved  in  the 
attempt  to  answer  them ;  and  even  if,  for  a  short  time, 
left  to  himself,  he  fall  a  victim  to  E-ousseau's  pas- 
sionate and  specious  rhetoric,  he  will  free  himself  as 
soon  as  the  glamour  of  that  has  worn  off,  and  through 
experience,  study,  and  careful  thought,  seek  other 
solutions  of  his  own.^ 

After  an  absence  of  two  years,  devoted  to  experience 
and  thought  in  social  matters,  Emile,  who  has  all  the 
time  been  looking  out  for  a  place  to  settle  in,  comes  to 
the  conclusion  that  one  place  (provided  it  is  not  in  a 
city)  is  as  good  as  another.  "I  remember,"  he  says 
to  his  tutor,  "  that  my  property  was  the  cause  of  our 
researches.  You  proved  to  me  very  cogently  that  I 
could  not  retain  at  once  my  riches  and  my  liberty; 
but,  when  you  wished  me  to  be  at  once  free  and  with- 
out needs,  you  were  suggesting  two  things  that  are 
incompatible;  for  I  cannot  withdraw  myself  from  de- 
pendence upon  men,  without  reverting  to  dependence 
upon  Nature.  What,  then,  shall  I  do  with  my  in- 
herited fortune  ?  I  shall  begin  by  ceasing  to  depend 
upon  it ;  I  shall  slacken  all  the  ties  that  bind  me  to 
it:  if  it  is  left  to  me,  I  shall  keep  it;  if  it  is  taken 
from  me,  I  shall  not  be  dragged  off  along  with  it.  I 
shall  not  torment  myself  to  retain  it;  but  I  shall 

1  The  Social  Contract  ought  to  be  a  leading  text-book  in  all 
classes  in  political  science.  It  should  be  remembered  that,  in  the 
hands  of  an  able  teacher,  a  bad  book,  calling  for  strong  adverse 
criticism,  is  often  far  better  than  a  good  one,  which  leaves  teacher 
and  pupil  nothing  to  do  but  to  repeat  and  accept.  Moreover,  in 
these  days,  it  is  of  no  small  importance  that  the  false  teaching  of 
the  Social  Contract,  still  influential  wherever  there  is  not  a  pro- 
found acquaintance  with  political  science,  should  be  dragged  to  the 
light  and  exposed. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         190 

remain  firm  in  my  place.  Rich  or  poor,  I  shall 
be  free.  I  shall  be  so  not  only  in  such  or  such  a 
country  or  region:  I  shall  be  so  all  the  world  over. 
For  me  all  the  chains  of  opinion  are  broken.  I  know 
only  those  of  necessity.  I  have  learnt  to  wear  them 
since  my  childhood,  and  I  shall  wear  them  till  the 
day  of  my  death;  for  I  am  a  man.  And  why  should 
I  not  wear  them  in  freedom,  since  I  should  still  have 
to  wear  them  in  slavery,  and  those  of  slavery  besides. 
What  matters  my  position  in  the  world  ?  What  mat- 
ters it  where  I  am  ?  Wherever  there  are  men,  I  am 
among  my  brothers :  wherever  there  are  none,  I  am  at 
home  with  myself.  As  long  as  I  can  remain  indepen- 
dent and  rich,  I  have  the  means  of  living,  and  I  shall 
live.  When  my  property  enslaves  me,  I  shall  aban- 
don it  without  difficulty :  I  have  arms  to  work  with, 
and  I  shall  live.  When  my  arms  fail  me,  I  shall  live, 
if  I  am  supported;  I  shall  die,  if  I  am  deserted.  I 
shall  die,  even  if  I  am  not  deserted ;  for  death  is  not  a 
punishment  for  poverty,  but  a  law  of  Nature.  Let 
death  come  when  it  will,  I  defy  it :  it  will  never  find 
me  making  preparations  to  live :  it  will  not  prevent 
me  from  having  lived.  Such,  father,  is  my  fixed 
purpose.  If  I  were  without  passions,  I  should,  in 
my  human  condition,  be  independent  as  God  himself, 
since,  desiring  only  what  is,  I  should  never  have  to 
struggle  with  fate.  At  least,  I  shall  have  but  one 
chain :  it  is  the  only  one  I  shall  always  wear,  and  I 
may  well  be  proud  of  it.  Come,  then,  give  me 
Sophie,  and  I  am  free." 

£mile,  having  thus  reached  the  desired  mood  of 
pessimistic,  Stoic  independence,   and  learnt  to  look 


200  ROUSSEAU 

upon  life  as  a  passing  show,  receives  the  commenda- 
tions of  his  tutor,  but  is,  at  the  same  time,  warned 
that  he  will  not  be  quite  so  Stoical  when  he  has  chil- 
dren, and  that  he  must  submit  to  other  yokes  besides 
that  of  marriage.  "  0  !fimile !  "  says  his  tutor,  "  where 
is  the  good  man  that  owes  nothing  to  his  country  ? 
Whoever  he  may  be,  he  owes  it  man's  most  precious 
dower,  the  morality  of  his  actions  and  the  love  of 
virtue.  Born  in  the  depths  of  a  forest,  he  would 
have  lived  happier  and  freer;  but,  having  nothing  to 
resist  in  order  to  follow  his  passions,  he  would  have 
been  good  without  merit:  he  would  not  have  been 
virtuous,  whereas  now  he  can  be  so  in  spite  of  his 
passions.  The  mere  appearance  of  order  prompts  him 
to  know  and  love  it.  The  public  good,  which  serves 
but  as  a  pretext  to  others,  is  to  him  alone  a  real  mo- 
tive. He  learns  to  battle  with  himself,  to  conquer 
himself,  to  sacrifice  his  own,  to  the  common,  inter- 
est. It  is  not  true  that  he  derives  no  benefit  from 
the  laws ;  they  give  him  the  courage  to  be  just  even 
among  the  wicked.  It  is  not  true  that  they  have 
not  made  him  free;  they  have  taught  him  to  rule 
himself."^ 

[Smile  is  then  shown  that  his  place  of  abode  ought 
not  to  be  indifferent  to  him,  and  that  "one  of  his 
duties  is  attachment  to  the  place  of  his  birth  "  and  to 
his  countrymen.  "Live  in  the  midst  of  them,"  ex- 
claims the  tutor ;  "  cultivate  their  friendship  in  gentle 
intercourse;  be  their  benefactor,  their  model.  Your 
example  will  avail  them  more  than  all  our  books,  and 

1  It  is  needless  to  remark  that  Rousseau  here  abandons  the  posi- 
tion toward  civil  life  taken  in  the  Discourses. 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES        201 

the  good  they  see  you  do  will  touch  them  more  deeply 
than  all  our  vain  talk.  I  do  not  advise  you,  on  this 
account,  to  go  and  live  in  great  cities;  on  the  con- 
trary, one  of  the  examples  which  good  men  ought  to 
set  to  others  is  to  live  a  patriarchal,  country  life,  the 
primitive  life  of  man,  the  most  peaceful,  the  most 
natural,  and  the  sweetest  for  a  man  of  uncorrupted 
heart."  Following  this  advice,  iSmile  resolves  to  take 
up  his  abode  with  Sophie's  parents,  and  the  long- 
desired  marriage  at  last  takes  place,  to  the  infinite 
joy  of  the  lovers.  When  the  ceremony  is  over,  the 
tutor  takes  them  aside,  and,  in  a  sensible,  but  ill-timed 
discourse,  which  makes  the  one  protest  and  the  other 
blush,  shows  them  how  they  may  indefinitely  prolong 
their  happiness,  and  remain  lovers  in  the  married 
state.  He  thereupon  abdicates  his  authority,  turning 
it  over  to  Sophie. 

When  the  honeymoon  is  over,  the  lovers  settle  down 
"to  enjoy,  in  peace,  the  charms  of  their  new  con- 
dition." The  tutor  is  happy  over  the  results  of  his 
twenty-five  years'  labor.  "How  often,"  he  says,  "do 
I  join  their  hands  in  mine,  blessing  Providence,  and 
breathing  ardent  sighs !  How  many  kisses  do  I  pour 
upon  these  two  hands  that  clasp  each  other !  With 
how  many  tears  of  joy  do  they  feel  me  water  them ! 
They,  in  turn,  sharing  my  transports,  melt  with  ten- 
derness." At  the  end  of  some  months  ^fimile  enters 
his  tutor's  room  and,  embracing  him,  informs  him 
that  he  (£mile)  will  soon  be  a  father.  "But,"  he 
continues,  "  remain  the  master  of  the  young  masters. 
Advise  us,  govern  us :  we  will  be  docile.  As  long  as 
I  live,  I  shall  need  you.     I  have  more  need  of  you 


202  ROUSSEAU 

than  ever,  now  that  my  functions  as  a  man  are  begin- 
ning. You  have  fulfilled  yours ;  teach  me  to  imitate 
you;  and  rest,  for  it  is  high  time." 

So,  with  the  culmination  of  Smile's  bliss,  the  book 
ends. 


CHAPTER  X 

ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES 

Manhood 
{Umile  and  Sophie,  or  the  Solitaries) 

Dein  eigen  ist  AUes, 
Dein  Heil,  wie  dein  Unheil, 
Dein  Wollen  und  Wahnen, 
Dein  Sinnen  und  Sein. 

Jordan,  Die  Nibelunge. 

For  man  is  man,  and  master  of  his  fate. 

Tenntson,  Idyls  of  the  King. 

Deus  ipse  voluntatem  cogere  non  potest. 

Thomas  Aquinas. 

There  is  no  house  prepared  for  thee  after  thy  death,  but  that 
of  which,  before  thy  death,  thou  hast  been  the  architect. 

Al  Ghazzali. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that,  when  Rousseau  fin- 
ished £mile  in  1762,  he  meant  to  end  it,  like  other 
fairy  tales,  with  "  And  so  they  were  married,  and  lived 
happily  ever  after."  In  course  of  time,  however,  it 
seems  to  have  struck  him  that  an  education  which  was 
good  enough  for  well-mated,  prosperous,  and  happy 
people,  might  be  utterly  useless  for  people  otherwise 
situated.  Accordingly  in  ^mile  and  Sophie,  or  the 
SolitarieSy^  he   undertook  to   show   how  his   system 

1  This  work,  which  was  never  finished,  takes  a  form  of  a  series 
of  letters  from  ^mile  to  his  tutor.    See  p.  70. 

203 


204  ROUSSEAU 

would  work  in  adversity.  To  do  this,  he  had  to 
break  in  upon  the  peaceful,  patriarchal  life  of  his 
wards,  and  to  render  both  of  them  profoundly  raiser- 
able,  in  fact,  to  drive  them  to  the  brink  of  despair. 

After  several  years  of  undimmed  happiness,  during 
which  a  son  and  a  daughter  are  born  to  them,  fimile 
and  Sophie  are  suddenly  visited  with  a  series  of 
calamities,  all  the  more  terrible  that  the  tutor  has 
ceased  to  live  with  them.  First,  Sophie's  father  dies, 
then  her  mother,  and,  lastly,  her  idolized  daughter. 
Untrained  to  misfortune,  the  poor  young  wife  is 
utterly  inconsolable,  and  fills  the  house  and  its  sur- 
roundings with  tears,  sobs,  and  cries.  In  order  to 
give  her  a  needful  change  of  environment,  her  hus- 
band, who  now  for  the  first  time  has  "  what  is  called 
business"  in  the  capital,  resolves  to  remove  her 
thither,  and  take  her  to  be  near  a  friend  whose 
acquaintance  she  has  made  in  the  neighborhood. 
Gloomy  forebodings  seize  upon  fimile  as  he  ap- 
proaches the  city;  but  he  shakes  them  olf  and  pro- 
ceeds. In  the  course  of  his  two  years'  residence, 
amid  the  corrupting  influences  of  city  life,  his  whole 
being  undergoes  a  change.  Unguarded  now  by  any 
tutor,  and  not  subject  to  obedience,  he  forms  new 
connections,  acquires  frivolous  tastes,  becomes  a 
pleasure-seeker,  and,  though  never  unfaithful  to  his 
wife,  finds  his  heart  gradually  losing  all  warmth  and 
force.  He  becomes  "  gallant  without  tenderness,  a  Stoic 
without  virtues,  a  sage  given  up  to  follies."  At  last 
he  finds,  or  thinks  he  finds,  that  he  no  longer  loves 
his  wife.  Meanwhile,  his  wife,  as  inexperienced  as 
himself,  and  in  need  of  distraction  to  lighten  her 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         205 

sorrow,  allows  herself  to  be  drawn  by  lier  friend  into 
corrupt  society,  where  she  becomes  familiarized,  not 
only  with  frivolity,  but  with  vice,  so  that  she  gradu- 
ally loses  interest  both  in  her  husband  and  in  her  son. 
Husband  and  wife,  though  still  living  under  the  same 
roof,  now  become  estranged  from  each  other,  and 
lead  separate  lives.  Finally,  Sophie,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  her  corrupt,  virtue-despising  friend,  and 
apparently  with  but  slight  blame  on  her  own  part, 
falls  from  virtue.^  From  this  moment  she  avoids  all 
society,  and  sits  lonely,  gloomy,  and  tearful  in  her 
own  room.  She  expresses  great  horror  of  her  friend 
and  her  friend's  husband,  and  jSmile  is  obliged  to 
forbid  them  the  house.  Alarm  at  his  wife's  condition 
now  fans  into  a  flame  his  smouldering  affection,  and 
he  tries  to  reestablish  the  old  intimate  relations,  but 
finds  her  completely  cold  and  irresponsive.  His  per- 
sistent attentions,  however,  finally  move  her;  but, 
instead  of  deceiving  him,  as  she  might  easily  have 
done,  she  heroically  tells  him :  "  I  am  no  longer  any- 
thing to  you.  ...  I  am  enceinte,'^  darts  into  her  room 
and  closes  the  door  after  her.  Emile,  completely 
crushed  and  annihilated  by  this  revelation,  wanders 
about  for  thirty-six  hours,  like  a  madman,  without 
sleep  or  food,  devoured  by  the  most  poignant  reflec- 
tions and  regrets.  At  last  he  reaches  a  village, 
where  he  sups  and  sleeps  soundly.  The  next  day 
he  finds  his  way  to  a  city,  and  enters  the  shop  of  a 

1  We  are  not  permitted  to  know  the  details  of  this  fall.  "  No, 
never,"  writes  l^mile,  "shall  these  hideous  details  escape  my  pen 
or  my  mouth.  It  were  too  unjust  to  the  memory  of  the  worthiest  of 
women."  .  .  .  "  Worldly  moralitj',  snare  of  vice  and  of  example, 
treason  of  false  friendship,  which  of  us  is  proof  against  you!  " 


206  ROUSSEAU 

carpenter,  as  an  ordinary  workman.  Here  he  gradu- 
ally comes  to  himself,  realizes  the  nobility  of  his 
wife's  declaration,  and  begins  to  feel  that  she  may, 
after  all,  be  far  less  culpable  than  he  has  thought. 
Unable  to  trust  her,  however,  he  resolves  to  remove 
his  son  from  her  keeping,  and  is  making  preparations 
to  do  this,  when  he  learns  that  a  lady  with  a  child 
has  come  and,  unseen,  watched  him  at  his  work ;  that 
she  has  shown  signs  of  great  mental  anguish;  and 
that,  after  kneeling  for  a  long  time,  she  has  risen 
and,  pressing  her  cheek  against  that  of  the  child,  ex- 
claimed in  stifled  tones :  "  Ko,  he  will  never  take  your 
mother  from  you ! "  ]Smile  at  once  recognizes  the 
secret  visitors  to  have  been  his  wife  and  child,  and  is 
struck  by  his  wife's  sad  words.  They  present  to  him 
a  new  aspect  of  the  case.  While  he  might  be  willing 
to  remove  the  child  from  the  guilty  mother,  he  can- 
not think  of  removing  the  mother  from  the  innocent 
child.  So  he  resolves  to  do  nothing  in  the  matter. 
Having  now,  however,  become  an  object  of  curiosity 
to  his  fellow-workmen  and  their  wives,  he  resolves  to 
avoid  recognition  and  go  further  off  in  search  of  em- 
ployment. He,  accordingly,  makes  his  way  on  foot 
to  Marseilles,  and  takes  passage  on  board  a  vessel 
bound  for  Naples,  along  with  a  number  of  other  per- 
sons. The  skipper  proves  to  be  a  jolly,  rollicking 
fellow,  who  does  his  best  to  keep  his  passengers  in 
good  humor;  but  fimile,  who  knows  about  the  sun's 
course  and  about  compasses,  begins,  after  a  time,  to 
suspect  that  they  are  not  going  in  the  direction  of 
their  proposed  destination.  His  suspicion  is  soon 
confirmed;  for  no  sooner  do  they  come  in  sight  of 


ROUSSEAU'S  EDUCATIONAL  THEORIES         207 

land  than  they  see  a  corsair  coming  toward  them. 
Being  without  means  of  defence,  they  are  soon 
boarded  by  the  corsair's  crew,  whereupon  it  becomes 
evident  that  the  skipper  is  in  collusion  with  them, 
and  that  all  the  passengers,  having  been  drawn  into  a 
trap,  are  destined  to  be  the  slaves  of  the  Moors.  The 
skipper  does  not  long  enjoy  the  success  of  his  roguery; 
for  fimile  strikes  off  his  head  with  a  sabre,  and  sends 
it  flying  into  the  sea.  By  this  act  he  earns  the  re- 
spect of  his  captors,  and  is  not  put  in  irons,  like  the 
rest  of  the  passengers.  On  landing,  however,  he  is 
sent,  like  the  rest,  to  the  galleys.  Here,  having  time 
to  reflect,  he  concludes  that  slavery,  after  all,  is 
nothing  so  terrible.  "Who  can  make  me  wear  two 
chains?"  he  says.  "Did  I  not  wear  one  before? 
There  is  no  real  servitude  but  that  to  Nature ;  men  are 
only  its  instruments.  Whether  a  master  finish  me, 
or  a  rock  crush  me,  the  event  is  the  same  in  my  eyes, 
and  the  worst  that  can  happen  to  me  in  slavery  is  not 
to  be  able  to  move  a  tyrant  more  than  a  stone.  And, 
indeed,  if  I  had  my  freedom,  what  should  I  do  with 
it  ?  In  my  present  state,  what  can  I  desire  ?  Alas ! 
to  prevent  me  from  sinking  into  annihilation,  I  need 
to  be  animated  with  another's  will  in  default  of 
my  own."  This  piece  of  characteristic  Rousselian 
sophistry,  which  would  justify  any  form  of  slavery, 
convinces  him  that  his  change  of  condition  is  more 
apparent  than  real,  "  that,  if  liberty  consisted  in  doing 
what  one  wishes,  no  man  would  be  free ;  that  all  are 
weak,  dependent  upon  things  and  upon  stern  neces- 
sity ;  that  he  who  can  best  will  all  that  it  ordains  is 
the  most  free,  since  he  is  never  forced  to  do  what  he 


208  ROUSSEAU 

does  not  wish."^  And  so,  says  !fimile,  "the  days  of 
my  slavery  were  the  days  of  my  sovereignty,  and  I 
had  never  more  authority  over  myself  than  when  I 
was  wearing  the  chains  of  the  barbarians." 

ifimile  comes  into  the  possession  of  several  masters, 
and  is  at  first  treated  kindly,  his  owners  hoping  that 
friends  will  ransom  him;  but,  as  no  efforts  are  made 
in  his  behalf,  he  is  sent  to  work,  and  works  cheerfully 
and  well,  while  his  companions,  reared  to  be  gentle- 
men and  philosophers,  and  not  to  be  men,  only  suffer 
and  bewail  their  lot,  many  of  them  dying  off  from  ill 
treatment.  At  last,  ifimile  himself  comes  under  a 
brutal  overseer,  who,  observing  him  attempt  to  help 
his  weaker  comrades,  so  overloads  him  with  work 
that  he  feels  he  must  soon  succumb  under  it.  Seeing 
that,  at  the  worst,  he  can  only  die,  he  foments  a  re- 
bellion among  his  fellows,  which  the  overseer  vainly 
tries  to  lash  down.  This  brings  the  owner  upon  the 
scene.  !fimile  explains  the  facts  to  him,  and  appeals 
to  his  interest  in  such  a  way  that  the  cruel  overseer 
and  ^fimile  are  made  to  exchange  places.  The  latter 
proves  an  excellent  overseer,  and  his  conduct,  getting 
noised  abroad,  comes  to  the  ears  of  the  Dey  of  Algiers, 
who  desires  to  see  him.  This  dey,  a  sensible  man, 
who  has  worked  his  way  up  from  the  ranks,  having 
taken  a  liking  to  him,  receives  him,  as  a  gift,  from 
his  master.  Thus,  in  every  relation  of  life,  even  the 
most  difficult  and  trying,  ^mile  finds  the  value  of 

1  Here  we  have  the  germs  of  the  Schopenhauerian  doctrine  that 
true  freedom  consists  in  renouncing  all  will,  even  the  '*  will  to  live," 
which  means  that  to  be  happy  is  not  to  be  at  all  —  the  last  conclu- 
sion of  pessimism. 


ROUSSEAU'S   EDUCATIONAL   THEORIES        209 

his  education,   and  its  superiority  to  that  of  other 
men. 

The  work  breaks  off  at  this  point;  but  its  aim  and 
outcome  are  obvious  enough.  The  providential  tutor, 
who  has  evidently  foreseen  everything,  now  goes  to 
work  to  bring  good  out  of  evil.  Thanks  to  the 
memory  of  a  Genevese  pastor,  who  was  on  friendly 
terms  with  Rousseau  in  his  closing  years,  we  know, 
in  a  general  way,  the  close.  "A  succession  of  events 
brings  jfimile  to  a  desert  island.  He  finds  on  the 
shore  a  temple  adorned  with  flowers  and  delicious 
fruits.  He  visits  it  every  day,  and  every  day  he  finds 
it  decked  out.  Sophie  is  the  priestess,  ^fimile  does 
not  know  this.  What  events  can  have  brought  her 
to  these  regions  ?  The  consequences  of  her  fault  and 
the  actions  which  efface  it.  Sophie  finally  reveals 
herself.  Smile  learns  the  tissue  of  fraud  and  vio- 
lence to  which  she  has  succumbed.  But,  unworthy 
henceforth  to  be  his  mate,  she  desires  to  be  his  slave 
and  to  serve  her  rival.  This  rival  is  a  young  person 
whom  other  events  have  joined  to  the  lot  of  the  former 
husband  and  wife.  This  rival  marries  iSmile;  Sophie 
is  present  at  the  wedding.  Finally,  after  some  days 
spent  in  the  bitterness  of  repentance,  and  the  tor- 
ments of  ever-renewed  pain,  all  the  more  keen  that 
Sophie  makes  it  a  duty  and  a  point  of  honor  to  dis- 
semble it,  fimile  and  Sophie's  rival  confess  that  their 
marriage  was  only  a  make-believe.  This  pretended 
rival  has  a  husband  of  her  own,  who  is  introduced  to 
Sophie,  and  Sophie  gets  back  her  own,  who  not  only 
forgives  her  involuntary  fault,  atoned  for  by  the  most 
cruel   sufferings    and    redeemed   by   repentance,  but 


210  ROUSSEAU 

values  and  honors,  in  her,  virtues  of  which  he  had  had 
but  a  faint  notion,  before  they  had  found  opportunity 
to  unfold  to  their  full  extent." 

Thus  Kousseau  has  proved,  to  his  satisfaction,  two 
things :  (1)  that  his  education  according  to  Kature  will 
enable  men  and  women  to  stand  the  test  of  the  sever- 
est adversity,  defying  not  only  suffering,  but  also 
public  opinion,  and  (2)  that  the  life  of  cities  is  alto- 
gether corrupt  and  corrupting. 

What  becomes  of  £mile  and  Sophie,  after  their 
reconciliation,  we  are  not  told;  but  perhaps  we  may 
conclude  that,  finding  themselves  self-sufiicient,  they 
conclude  to  end  their  days,  living  after  the  fashion  of 
Robinson  Crusoe,  or,  rather,  of  Franz  von  Kleist's 
Zamori  and  his  mate,  on  their  desert  island,  thus 
returning  to  a  state  of  Nature,  whose  charms  are 
heightened  by  the  bitter  experiences  of  civilization.^ 
It  is  just  possible,  however,  that  we  have  in  the  later 
books  of  Tlie  New  HMo'ise  a  picture  of  their  conjugal 
happiness.  Julie  and  Sophie  have  much  in  common, 
even  their  fall. 

1  See  Emeraon's  poem,  The  Adirondacks. 


VrdiAVTK 


V^rTHAPTER  XI 

CONCLUSION.'  —  ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE 

The  history  of  the  world  is  the  judgment  of  the  world. 

SCHILLEE. 

Let  him,  the  wiser  man  who  springs 
Hereafter,  up  from  childhood  shape 
His  action  like  the  greater  ape  ; 

But  I  was  born  for  other  things. 

Tennyson,  In  Memoriam,  cxx. 

The  history  of  mankind  is  a  progress  in  the  consciousness  of 
freedom.  Hegel. 

Having  followed  Rousseau's  educational  scheme 
from  i^-begin^ng  to  its  last  effects  upon  manhood 
and  womanhood,  we  have  now  to  consider  its  value, 
to  estimate  its  moral  bearings,  and  to  see  whether  it 
could  properly  lead  to  the  results  claimed  for  it. 
\  That  the  influence  of  Rousseau's  ideas  upon  educa- 
tional theory  and  practice  was,  and  is,  great,  no  one 
will  deny.  In  education,  as  in  other  things,  his  pas- 
sionate rhetoric  and  his  scorn  for  the  conventional 
existent,  as  contrasted  with  the  ideal  simplicity  of 
Nature,  roused  men  from  their  slumbers,  and  made 
them  reconsider  all  that  they  had  so  long  blindly 
taken  for  granted  and  bowed  before.  And  in  so  far 
his  work  was  invaluable.  His  bitter,  sneering  con- 
demnation of  the  corrupt,  hypocritical,  fashionable 
life  of  his  time,   with  its  distorting,   debasing,  and 

211 


212  ROUSSEAU 

dehumanizing  notions  of  education,  and  his  eloquent 
plea  for  a  return  to  a  life  truly  and  simply  human,  and 
to  an  education  based  upon  the  principles  of  human 
nature  and  calculated  to  prepare  for  such  a  life,  were 
righteous  and  well  timed.  His  purpose  was  thoroughly 
right,  and  he  knew  how  to  make  himself  heard  in 
giving  expression  to  it.  But,  when  he  came  to  inform 
the  world  in  detail  how  this  purpose  was  to  be  carried 
out,  he  undertook  a  task  for  which  he  was  not  fitted 
either  by  natural  endowment  or  by  education.  His 
passionate,  sensuous,  dalliant,  and  immoral  nature 
prevented  him  from  seeing  wherein  man's  highest 
being  and  aim  consist,  while  his  ignorance  and  his 
contempt  for  study,  science,  and  philosophy  closed 
his  eyes  to  the  historic  process  by  which  men  have 
not  only  come  to  be  what  they  now  are,  but  by  which 
their  future  course  must  be  freely  determined,  and 
made  him  substitute  for  it  a  spurious  scheme,  put 
together  out  of  certain  vague  notions  of  history  afloat 
in  his  time  and  certain  fancies  of  his  own  vivid  imag- 
ination. 
>l^Thus,  his  own  temperament  and  the  reminiscences 
ofKis  own  capricious,  undisciplined  childhood  led 
him  to  think  that  the  child  is  a  mere  sensuous  being, 
swayed  by  purely  sensuous  instincts,  and  inaccessible 
to  reason  or  conscience,  and  that  these,  when  called 
forth  by  social  demands,  are  marks  of  depravation  and 
badges  of  unfreedom.  His  utter  inability  to  conceive 
of  moral  life,  as  a  thoughtful  adjustment  of  the  indi- 
vidual to  the  universe,  and  as  a  self-sufficient  end,  for 
the  attainment  of  which  every  sacrifice,  intelligently 
and  voluntarily  made,  is  a  gain,  and  ought  to  be  a 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  213 

joy,  made  him,  on  the  one  hand,  regard  man  as  a  mere 
plaything  in  the  hands  of  a  kindly  but  capricious 
God,  and,  on  the  other,  to  represent  him  as  the  help- 
less victim  of  an  inexorable  necessity  or  fate.  Wav- 
ering hopelessly  between  these  mutually  contradictory  \y^ 
Christian  and  Stoic  notions,  he  never  arrived  at  any 
conception  of  the  true  meaning  of  spiritual  freedom, 
or  the  true  ideal  of  social  existence.  His  notion  of 
freedom  was  almost  purely  negative,  and,  therefore, 
both  empty  and  unsocial.  He  did  not,  and  could  not, 
see  that  freedom,  like  intelligence  and  affection,  has 
no  content  save  in  a  world  wherein  each  individual 
spirit  is,  through  its  own  essential  activity,  freely 
related  to  all  other  spirits,  and  gradually  perfects 
itself  by  ever  richer,  deeper,  and  freer  forms  of  this 
relation.  He  did  not  see  that  this  process  coincides 
with  the  gradual  unfolding  of  reason  and  will,  as  they 
differentiate  and  particularize  themselves  out  of  that 
vague  affection,  or  desiderant  feeling,  which  consti- 
tutes the  undeveloped  soul.  He  did  not  see  that  even 
the  first  differentiation  in  the  "  fundamental  feeling  " 
involves  consciousness  and  therefore  reason,  and  the 
first  movement  in  obedience  to  one  feeling,  rather 
than  another,  the  first  stirring  of  selective  conscience, 
or  will.  He  did  not  see  that  the  gradual  differentia- 
tion of  feeling  into  perceptions  and  volitions  is  the 
gradual  creation  of  a  world  of  beings  in  thought  and 
will,  that  things  and  persons  are  distinguished  through 
an  effort  to  group  feelings  and  satisfactions,  by  refer- 
ring them  to  particular  common  sources,  and  that, 
apart  from  this  process,  there  would  be  no  conscious- 
ness, and  no  world,  at  all.     In  a  word,  he  failed  alto- 


214  ROUSSEAU 

gether  to  see  that  existence  is  essentially  social  and, 
therefore,  moral,  alien  alike  to  caprice  and  to  neces- 
sity. As  a  consequence  of  this,  he  failed  to  understand 
the  true  nature  of  education,  which  is  simply  the  effort 
to  enable  children,  from  the  moment  they  begin  to 
use  reason  and  will,  that  is,  to  distinguish  one  feeling 
and  one  attraction  from  another,  so  to  classify  and 
group  these  feelings  and  attractions  that  an  orderly, 
self -consistent,  and  rational  world,  with  a  hierarchy 
of  well-defined  attractions,  shall  gradually  shape  itself 
in  their  minds,  and  make  a  rational  and  moral  life 
y  possible  for  them.  In  denying  reason  and  conscience) 
'  to  the  child,  he  was  denying  it  the  very  agencies  by 
which  its  world  is  built  up,  and,  in  trying  to  isolate  it 
from  society,  he  was  depriving  it  of  a  large  portion, 
and  that  too  the  most  important,  of  those  feelings 
or  experiences  with  which  these  agencies  have  to 
work,  and  so  impoverishing  the  child's  world.  The 
truth  is,  Rousseau  himself  had  no  rationally  or  morally 
organized  world  of  his  own.  Much  remained  for  him 
in  the  condition  of  almost  brute  feeling  or  emotion, 
round  which  his  fancy  played  in  the  most  capricious 
fashion.  Then,  when  he  attempted  arbitrarily  to  in- 
troduce unity  into  this  chaotic  world,  he  invented  for 
the  purpose,  out  of  old  traditions,  sometimes  a  capri- 
cious, and  sometimes  a  necessary,  first  principle, 
neither  of  which  could,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
organize  that  world,  or  give  him  any  real  freedom  in 
it.  A  mind  like  his,  incapable  of  reducing  its  world 
to  clear  visibility  and  transparent  unity,  was  natu- 
rally dependent  upon  its  unorganized  moods,  and  was 
liable  to  pass  from  the  most  joyous  optimism,  at  one 


ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE  216 

leap,  to  the  gloomiest  pessimism.  This  is  the  secret 
of  his  emotional  deism,  of  his  sudden  change  from 
Epicureanism  to  Stoicism,  ^rom  spontaneity  to  aji- 
thority  in  Emile's  education,'^  and  of  his  oscillation 
between  religious  intolerance  and  the  most  complete 
liberalism.^ 

The  failure  of  Rousseau  to  realize  that  education  is 
the  process  by  which  a  world  of  rational  distinctions 
and  ends  is  developed  in  the  child's  mind,  also  closed 
his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  it  must  be  so  conducted  that 
the  distinctions,  made  by  the  child  form,  as  far  as 
possible,  a  coherent,  self-explaining  whole  at  every 
moment,  and  that  this  whole  shall  be  duly  articulated 
as  fast  as  it  grows,  leaving  no  undigested  clots  of  feel- 
ing or  experience  to  baffle  and  stupefy  the  expanding 
mind.  As  a  result  of  this,  his  educational  system, 
though  divided  into  epochs,  is  otherwise  altogether  \/ 
disorderly,  and  he  is  far  more  interested  that  the  child 
should  enjoy  himself,  revelling  in  a  present  chaos  of 
disconnected  sensations,  than  that  he  should  know  the 
joy  of  creating  for  himself,  out  of  them,  a  rational  and 
eternal  world.  Hence  his  frivolous  and  oft-repeated 
plea  that  the  future  should  be  sacrificed  to  the  pres- 
ent, for  fear  that  the  future  may  never  come  —  a 
strange  enough  caution  for  one  who  pretended  to  be- 
lieve in  immortality.  If  that  is  a  fact,  then  surely  all 
spiritual  gains  made  by  the   human   being,   at  any 


1  See  above,  p.  184.  In  The  New  H^loise,  Pt.  III.,  Let.  V.,  he 
says:  "No  true  believer  can  be  intolerant  or  a  persecutor.  If  I 
were  a  magistrate,  and  the  law  ordained  the  burning  of  atheists, 
I  should  begin  by  burning,  as  such,  the  first  man  who  informed 
against  another." 


216  ROUSSEAU 

period  of  his  life,  will  tell  to  all  eternity,  no  matter 
when  he  leaves  this  earthly  scene;  and  he  can  do 
nothing  more  recklessly  foolish  than  forget  the  future 
in  the  present.  But,  in  making  this  plea,  Rousseau, 
characteristically  enough,  failed  altogether  to  see 
that,  even  for  a  child,  there  is  a  much  higher  sort  of 
enjoyment  than  mere  capricious,  sensuous  dalliance, 
namely,  the  enjoyment  that  comes  from  an  orderly 
exertion  of  his  will  in  view  of  an  end,  and  was  utterly 
unaware  that  such  exertion  is  the  process  by  which 
all  strong  and  consistent  characters  are  formed.  We 
need  not,  therefore,  be  surprised  to  find  Emile  arriv- 
ing at  the  age  of  twenty,  so  destitute  of  all  ends  and 
aims  that,  if  he  were  not  watched  at  every  moment, 
night  and  day,  he  would  become  an  easy  prey  to  his 
dalliant  sensibilities.  A  young  man  who  has  learnt 
to  make  the  present  subservient  to  the  future  by  the 
exercise  of  his  will,  in  the  continual  pursuit  of  worthy 
ends,  and  who  knows  the  delight  that  comes  from  the 
attainment  of  these,  will  hardly  be  so  victimized. 

It  may  perhaps  be  permitted  to  point  out  here  that 
the  great  educational  principle  of  introducing  unity 
and  system  into  life,  by  completing  the  present  with 
the  future,  is  embodied  in  the  beautiful  Praxitelean 
group  of  Hermes  and  the  Infant  Dionysus.  Here 
we  have  the  ideal  tutor  and  pupil.  The  elder  god, 
the  perfect  type  of  glorious  young  manhood,  carries 
the  younger,  a  highly  intelligent,  almost  mature-faced 
child,  on  his  left  arm.  The  child  places  his  right 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his  guardian,  stretches  his 
left  out  toward  something,  probably  a  bunch  of  grapes, 
which  the  latter  holds  aloft  in  his  left,  and  looks  be- 


ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE  217 

seechingly  into  his  face.  But  Hermes  does  not  return 
the  look,  or  smile.  His  earnest  eyes  have  a  far  look. 
In  tempting  forth  into  action  the  child's  natural 
desires,  he  is  gazing,  not  at  the  present,  but  at  the 
distant  future.  This  expresses  the  spirit  of  Greek 
education,  whose  patron  Hermes  was,  as  well  as  of  all 
education  whose  purpose  is  to  make  strong,  wise, 
determined  men. 

I  A  very  striking  result  of  Rousseau's  sensuous  nature 
was  his  view  of  women,  and  of  the  education  proper 
for  them.  For  him,  woman  is  never  a  spiritual  being, 
the  equal  of  man  in  freedom,  an  end  to  herself,  and 
entering  into  sexual  relations  by  free  choice  for  cer- 
tain ends,  by  her  desired  and  approved.  She  is  merely 
a  female,  the  slave  and  instrument  of  man,  a  creature 
whose  whole  being  is  exhausted  in  her  sexuality. 
Her  education,  therefore,  is  merely  the  education  of 
her  sexuality,  and  ought,  on  no  account,  to  go  beyond 
this.  Rousseau's  conception  of  women  is  one  that  has 
been  only  too  common  in  France,  as  in  all  countries 
where  the  Moslem  pseudo-virtue  of  chivalry,  or  exter- 
nal palaver  in  their  presence,  has  taken  the  place  of  that 
real  virtue  of  inner  gentlemanliness,  which  regards 
women  first  as  human  beings,  endowed  with  all  human 
attributes  and  rights,  and  afterwards  as  women,  with 
special  duties  and  privileges.  It  is  a  conception  which, 
while  pretending  to  elevate  women  into  mistresses, 
degrades  them  into  slaves,  and  deprives  them  of  that 
dignity  of  freedom,  which  alone  imparts  value  to  life. 
If  Rousseau's  character  led  him  into  manifold  errors, 
his  contemptuous  ignorance  of  philosophy,  science, 
and  histoiy  led  him  into  many  more.     Thus,  in  addi- 


/ 


/ 


218  EOUSSEAU 

tion  to  assuming  a  relation  of  opposition  between 
sensation  and  reason,  and  thereby  introducing  a  Mani- 
chaean  division  into  the  individual  man,  he  placed  a 
similar  opposition  between  Nature  and  Culture,  and 
thereby  broke  the  continuity,  and  rendered  unintelli- 
gible the  course,  of  social  evolution.  Worse  than 
this,  having  failed  to  recognize  that  all  existence  is 
essentially  social  and  moral,  and  regarding  the  un- 
social, sub-moral  man  as  complete  and  self-sufficient, 
he  was  bold  enough  to  maintain  that  all  social  rela- 
tions and  all  the  powers,  intellectual  and  moral,  de- 
manded and  evolved  by  these,  are  so  many  forms  of 
degeneration.  Believing  that  man  was  forced  into 
sociability  only  by  selfish  motives,  and  that  society 
exists  only  to  enable  him  to  preserve  as  much  as  pos- 
sible of  his  natural  Cyclopean^  freedom,^  he  continu- 
ally holds  up  the  state  of  Nature,  in  which  man  is  a 
mere  instinct-guided  animal,  living  wholly  in  the  pres- 
ent, without  plan  or  purpose,  as  his  ideal  condition, 
to  be  regained  whenever  possible.  His  whole  system 
of  education,  accordingly,  aims  at  rendering  men  un- 
social, and  so  might  fitly  enough  be  called  Unsocial 
Education.  We  need  not,  therefore,  be  surprised  that 
iSmile  never  develops  any  social  virtues  other  than 
those  of  the  family  and  the  kindly  neighbor,  never 
engages  in  any  social,  economic,  or  political  reforms, 
and  never  looks  upon  social  duties  except  as  obtruding 
evils  that,  in  a  culture-perverted  life,  must  be  borne 
with  Stoic  indifference  or  resignation. 

1  See  Homer,  Odyssey,  Bk.  IX.,  112  sqq. 

3  He  has  rare  glimpses  of  a  better  view ;  but  they  do  not  last. 
S«e  p.  200. 


ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE  219 

If,  owing  to  his  defective  character  and  acquire- 
ments, Rousseau's  educational  system  is  mainly  false 
in  presuppositions  and  aims,  it  is  still  more  so  in 
method.  To  train  a  being  whose  nature  is  essentially 
moral,  and  whose  life,  in  so  far  as  moral,  must  consist 
in  relations  and  dealings  with  free,  intelligent  beings, 
by  the  laws  of  brute  necessity  and  force,  with  the 
view  of  imparting  to  him  the  freedom  of  an  automa- 
ton, is  surely  the  height  of  absurdity,  and  the  author 
of  another  volume  in  this  series  is  entirely  justified  in 
calling  the  attempt  "  a  scheme  as  fantastic  as  ever  en- 
tered the  wayward  mind  of  a  madman  —  to  separate 
the  child  from  his  fellows,  and  set  him  in  a  wilder- 
ness."^ This  scheme  had  its  origin,  partly  in  Rous-  - 
seau's  character,  which  was  essentially  unsocial  and 
impatient  of  moral  regulation,  and  partly  in  his  false 
notions  of  the  origin  and  uses  of  society.  To  be  sure, 
if  one  does  not  care  to  learn  to  swim,  he  need  not  go 
into  the  water;  but  if  he  does  wish,  he  has  no  choice. 
So,  if  we  wish  a  child  to  make  his  way  safel}'  in 
society,  we  must  bring  him  up  in  society,  familiarize 
him  with  its  laws,  usages,  and  meaning,  and  train  his 
will  to  relate  itself  freely  to  the  freedom  of  other 
wills.  To  make  brute  force  the  sole  means  of  his  edu-  ^ 
cation  is  to  dehumanize  him,  to  make  him  an  outcast 
from  the  hour  of  his  birth.  If,  in  spite  of  such  treat- 
ment, his  human  nature  still  asserts  itself,  it  will  be 
in  an  altogether  undeveloped  form.  The  child  will 
be  a  dependent  cry-baby  and  stupid  dupe  at  the  age 
of  sixteen,  and  as  such,  indeed,  ]Smile  is  presented 
to  us.     Moreover,  since  utter  subjection  to  the  control 

1  Bowen,  Froebel,  p.  4. 


220  ROUSSEAU 

of  necessity  cuts  off  all  possibility  of  control  by  self, 
and  leaves  the  child  entirely  determined  from  with- 
out, he  will  have  to  be  watched  and  tended  all  the 
days  of  his  life,  and,  in  case  of  need,  subjected  to  un- 
blushing tyranny,  as  we  find  fimile  to  have  been.  He 
never  learns  to  distinguish  between  slavery  and  free- 
dom, for  the  simple  reason  that  he  never  has  any  ex- 
perience of  the  latter.  When  one  cannot  tell  slavery 
from  freedom,  there  is  no  heroism  in  bearing  it,^  and 
no  motive  to  throw  it  off.  Men  with  Emile's  princi- 
ples would  accept  slavery  and  oppression  with  Stoic 
indifference,  or  else  revert  to  savagery;  and  the 
struggle  for  concrete  freedom,  that  is,  freedom  with 
a  content  of  social  relations,  as  distinct  from  negative 
freedom  without  relations,  would  come  to  an  end. 

But,  besides  all  these  defects  of  presuppositions, 
ideals,  and  method  inherent  in  Rousseau's  system,  it 
is  chargeable  with  three  others  which  are  fatal :  (1)  it 
is  exclusive,  (2)  it  is  impracticable,  and  (3)  it  is 
immoral. 

In  the  world  for  which  Rousseau,  however  incon- 
sistently, paved  the  way,  all  education  must  be  univer- 
sal, accessible  to  every  human  being,  as  such,  without 
distinction  of  class  or  sex.     Now,  Rousseau's  system 

1  To  regard  indiscriminating  apathy  as  moral  heroism,  or  to  look 
for  peace  through  the  hlunting  of  sensibilities,  is  the  height  of 
absurdity.    Cf.  Macbeth,  IV.,  3: 

Malcolm.    Dispute  it  like  a  man. 
Macduff.  I  shall  do  so ; 

But  I  must  also  feel  as  a  man. 

This  is  the  true  heroism,  and  the  only  one  that  is  compatible  with 
social  life  or  individual  nobility.  It  is  a  chief  task  of  education  to 
cultivate  keenness  of  feeling. 


ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE  221 

never  laid  claim  to  any  such  universality.  He  main- 
tains that  the  poor  have  no  need  of  education  (see 
p.  106  n.),  and  considers  only  the  rich  and  well  born. 
His  system  is,  therefore,  essentially  exclusive,  aristo- 
cratic, and  plutocratic,  an  education  for  kindly  coun- 
try squires,  or  rural  patriarchs,  living  in  the  midst  of 
thralls  or  serfs.  But,  even  as  exclusive,  it  is  utterly 
impracticable.  It  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  man 
willing  to  devote  the  twenty-five  best  years  of  his  life, 
without  reward,  to  the  education  of  one  child,  even  if 
that  child  were  his  own;  and,  if  he  could  be  found, 
his  self-sacrifice,  and  his  renunciation  of  all  social 
relations  and  duties,  for  the  sake  of  one  who  might 
not  live,  or  might  not  develop,  to  justify  his  efforts, 
would  be  an  insane  act.  The  world  would  not  make 
much  progress,  if  every  child  required  the  exclusivl 
services  of  a  tutor  for  five  and  twenty  years,  and,  evel 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  had  not  learnt  to  guide  his 
own  life.  Again,  unless  desert  islands  could  be  pro- 
duced at  will,  the  isolation  demanded  by  the  system 
is  impossible.  Indeed,  we  do  not  find  that  Rousseau 
can  dispense  with  society.  His  £mile  attends  fairs, 
ice-cream  parties,  and  banquets,  and  runs  races  for 
cakes  with  other  children;  and  such  experiences  are 
shown  to  be  necessary  parts  of  his  education.  In  all 
this,  Rousseau  forgot  himself.  Lastly,  a  system 
which  uses,  as  its  sole  motive,  self-interest,  and  that 
too,  frequently  in  low  forms ;  which  estimates  actions 
by  their  actual,  instead  of  their  intended,  conse- 
quences, and  which  continually  practises  pious  fraud 
and  dupery,  in  order  to  reach  its  ends,  surely  deserves 
to  be  called  immoral.     And  its  acknowledged  result 


222  ROUSSEAU 

upon  fimile,  who  never  rises  to  the  dignity  of  a  ra- 
tional, self -determining  personality,  freely  relating 
himself  to  a  society  of  free  personalities,  but  always 
remains  the  victim  of  a  sensuous,  capricious,  selfish 
Epicureanism,  dashed  with  fitful  blotches  of  gloomy, 
fatalistic,  despairing  Stoicism,  crying,  like  a  spoilt 
child,  at  one  moment,  and  posing  as  a  Prometheus 
Bound  the  next,  fully  bears  out  this  judgment. 

Gathering  up,  in  one  glance,  the  various  defects  of 
Kousseau's  social  and  pedagogical  theories,  we  can 
now  see  clearly  the  false  assumption  that  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  them  all.  It  is  a  very  common  and  wide- 
spread error,  and  is  fatal  wherever  it  occurs.  It  con- 
sists in  assuming  that  the  later  and  higher  stages  in 
f  volution  are  to  be  explained  by  the  laws  that  mani- 
est  themselves  in  the  earlier  and  lower,  and  must  be 
made  to  square  with  these.  It  throws  forward  the 
darkness  of  the  earlier  upon  the  later,  instead  of  cast- 
ing back  the  light  of  the  later  upon  the  earlier.  Thus 
it  continually  tries  to  explain  human  nature  by  the 
laws  manifested  in  sub-human  nature,  and  insists  that 
man  should  go  back  and  allow  himself  to  be  governed 
by  the  necessary  ^  laws  of  the  latter,  —  6/j.o\oyovfX€vo)^ 
rfj  <f>v(r€L,  as  the  fatalistic  Stoics  said.  This  is  the 
sum  and  substance  of  Rousseau's  teaching  in  soci- 
ology, ethics,  and  pedagogy;  it  is  the  sum  and  sub- 
stance of  much  popular  teaching  in  all  departments 
of  theory  and  practice  to  this  day.     And  yet  nothing 

1  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  in  these  days,  that  the  notion  of 
necessity  corresponds  to  no  fact  that  we  know.  Nature  reveals 
regularity,  but  not  necessity.  See  Huxley,  Materialism  and  Ideal- 
Um,  in  Collected  Essays,  Vol.  I. 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  223 

could  be  more  misleading,  more  fatal  to  progress. 
The  acorn  does  not  explr.in  the  oak,  but  the  oak  the 
acorn.  The  meaning  of  the  acorn  is  revealed  in  the 
V  oak,  and  the  meaning  of  Nature  in  Culture.  "  Nature," 
Professor  James  tells  us,  "  reveals  no  spiritual  intent." 
Of  course  it  does  not,  so  long  as  you  arbitrarily  ex- 
clude from  Nature  its  highest  manifestations;  but  in- 
clude these,  and  you  will  see  that  they  are  what  all 
Nature  has  been  tending  toward  from  all  eternity. 
In  a  word.  Culture  is  the  meaning,  or  intent,  of  Nature, 
and  we  shall  never  know  the  full  meaning  of  the  first 
and  lowest  step  in  existence  till  the  last  and  highest 
has  been  taken.  Each  to-day  reveals  the  meaning 
of  all  yesterdays,  and  contains  the  free  promise  of 
all  to-morrows.  The  problem  of  life  is,  not  to  make 
man  live  according  to  Nature,  but  to  make  Nature  live 
according  to  man,  or,  in  less  ambitious  phrase,  to  ele- 
vate the  "natural"  into  the  "spiritual"  man,  blind 
instinct  into  rational  freedom.  Kousseau^s  system, 
therefore,  exactly  inverts  the  order  of  Nature  and 
progress ;  it  advocates  the  descent,  not  the  ascent,  of 
man.^ 

To  sum  up:  In  so  far  as  Rousseau  laid  bare  the 
defects  and  abuses  of  the  society  and  education  of  his 
time,  and  demanded  reforms  in  the  direction  of  truth 
and  simplicity,  he  did  excellent  work ;  but,  when  he 
came  to  tell  how  such  reforms  were  to  be  accom- 
plished, he  propounded  a  system  which,  from  a  social 

1  Aristotle,  who  never  falls  into  the  common  error,  calls  the  oak, 
as  the  meaning  of  the  acorn,  the  what-it-was-ness  (rd  ri  ^y  e7vat) 
of  it.  We  say  of  the  acorn,  when  we  see  the  oak  that  has  sprung 
from  it,  "  Oh,  that's  what  it  was!"  The  republic  of  free  spirits  is 
tne  what-it-was-ness  of  the  lowest  form  of  life. 


224  KOUSSEAU 

and  moral  point  of  view,  lias  hardly  one  redeeming 
feature,  and  which  is  frequently  in  glaring  contradic- 
tion with  itself.     It  is  pure  Romanticism. 

In  spite  of  this,  it  has  been  given  to  few  men  to 
exert,  with  their  thought,  an  influence  so  deep  and 
pervasive  as  that  of  Rousseau.  This  influence,  due  to 
the  fact  that  he  took  the  "  motions  "  which  were  "  toil- 
ing in  the  gloom  "  of  the  popular  mind  of  his  time, 
and  made  them  flash,  with  the  lurid  lightning  of  his 
own  passion,  before  the  eyes  of  an  astonished  world, 
extended  to  all  departments  of  human  activity  —  phi- 
losophy, science,  religion,  art,  politics,  ethics,  eco- 
nomics, and  pedagogy. 

In  Philosophy  this  influence  is  very  marked.  Kant 
has  told  us  that  he  was  "  roused  from  his  dogmatic 
slumber  "  by  Hume,  and  this  is  true ;  but,  after  he 
was  roused,  he  drew  his  chief  inspiration  from  Rous- 
seau.^ The  germinal  thought  of  the  Critique  of  the 
Pure  ReasoUj  expressed  in  its  opening  sentence,  is  to 
be  found  in  J^mi7e,  Bk.  IV. ^  ''These  comparative 
ideas,  greater,  less,  as  well  as  the  numerical  ideas, 
one,  two,  etc,  are  certainly  not  sensations,  though  the 
mind  produces  them  only  on  the  occasion  of  sensa- 
tions "  —  the  Critical  Philosophy  is  but  a  generaliza- 
tion of  this.  We  have  already  seen  that  Kant's  three 
"Postulates  of  the  Pure  Reason '^  —  God,  Preedom, 
and  Immortality'  —  are  simply  Rousseau's  three  fun- 


1  He  is  said  never  to  have  omitted  his  afternoon  walk  but  once, 
and  that  was  when  he  got  absorbed  in  The  New  Heloise.  It  is 
difficult  to  understand  this  nowadays. 

2  Savoyard  Vicar's  Confession  of  Faith. 

*  See  p.  166,  and  cf .  Prologue  to  Tennyson's  In  Memorimm. 


ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE  225 

damental  tenets  of  natural  religion.  Kant's  ethical 
rigorism,  with  its  ungrounded  "categorical  impera- 
tive," owes  much  to  Rousseau's  spasmodic  Stoicism; 
while  his  theory  of  taste,  as  laid  down  in  his  Critique 
of  the  Power  of  Judgment,  clearly  has  its  roots  in  *^  ^^ 
Rousseau's  definition  of  taste. ^  It  is  hardly  an  exag- 
geration, therefore,  to  say  that  Kant,  in  his  three 
Critiques,  does  little  more  than  present,  in  philo- 
sophic garb,  the  leading  doctrines  of  Rousseau,  i  But, 
as  has  already  been  shown,  Rousseau  had  occasional 
glimpses  of  truth  that  lay  altogether  beyond  Kant's 
range  of  vision.'-^  Through  Kant,  Rousseau's  philo- 
sophic influence  passed  into  all  German,  and  thence 
into  all  modern,  philosophy,  as  could  easily  be  shown. 
Even  the  latest  developments.  Agnosticism  and  Phi- 
lopistism,*  can  be  traced  back,  through  Kant's 
unknowable  "thing-in-itself,"-  and  undemonstrable 
^*'' postulates, "  to  Rousseau's  emotional  subjectivism. 
Crhe  result  of  Rousseau's  influence  upon  philosophy 
has  been  to  discredit  human  reason,  to  replace  it  by 
infectious  emotion,  and  to  pave  the  way  for  a  return 
to  obscurantism  and  superstition.'* 

1  See  p.  175.  2  gee  above,  p.  85,  note. 

8  I  cannot  think  of  any  better  compound  to  express  the  irrational 
**  will-to-believe  "-ism  of  such  recent  writers  as  Druramond,  Bal- 
four, ICidd,  and  James.  See  Cecil's  Pseudo-Philosophy  at  the  End 
of  the  Nineteenth  Century.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  Agnosticism 
and  Philopistism  are  respectively  but  the  emotionally  pessimistic 
and  optimistic  aspects  of  one  fact,  the  despair,  on  the  part  of 
reason,  of  solving  its  own  problems  —  a  despair  originally  born  of 
Rousseau's  intellectual  sloth. 

^  See  the  quotation  from  Goethe,  on  p.  113.  Goethe,  as  we  shall 
see,  overcame  the  influence  of  Rousseau.  He  puts  many  of  his 
teachings,  almost  verbatim,  into  the  mouth  of  Mephistopheles,  and 
of  Faust  in  his  dark  days. 


226  ROUSSEAU 

The  same  thing  is  true  of  his  influence  upon  Science, 
although  this,  thanks  to  the  fact  that  science,  wiser 
than  philosophy,  takes  due  account  of  the  sensuous 
content  of  thought,  has  been  less  marked.  The  re- 
sults of  science  are  proof  against  emotional  prejudice, 
and  take  no  notice  of  contempt.  It  was  specially 
to  Hegel  and  his  school  that  this  part  of  Rousseau's 
influence  passed.  Hegel  spoke  with  undisguised  con- 
tempt of  physical  science,  and  constructed  philoso- 
phies of  religion,  right,  art,  etc.,  out  of  his  own  brain 
—  philosophies  which  science  has  silently  converted 
into  warning  examples.  His  thought  has  almost 
been  forgotten  in  the  land  of  its  birth,  and  many 
of  his  works  have  never  had  the  honor  of  a  second 
edition. 

In  Eeligion,  Rousseau's  influence  has  been  incalcu- 
lable, supplementing,  and,  in  some  ways,  counteract- 
ing, that  of  Voltaire.  While  Voltaire  and  his  followers 
were  applying  a  robust,  but  rather  coarse,  common 
sense  to  the  ancient  word-castles  of  religious  dogma, 
and  reducing  them  to  heaps  of  crumbling  ruins,  Rous- 
seau was  trying  to  construct  a  simple  cottage  out  of  a 
few  moth-eaten  sticks  rescued  from  the  general  wreck, 
by  covering  over  with  a  thin  papering  of  varnished 
sentiment.  The  result  was  the  Savoyard  Vicar's 
Confession  of  Faith,  a  frail  enough  structure,  not  fit 
for  human  habitation,  save  in  the  mildest  weather. 
It,  nevertheless,  proved  widely  attractive  at  a  time 
when  men,  having  lost  faith,  not  only  in  religion,  but 
also  in  reason,  as  interpreters  of  life,  were  fain  to 
look  to  sentiment  and  romance  for  help.  Rousseau's 
emotional  faith  became  the  religion  of  many  men  in 


ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE  227 

his  own  time,  of  a  large  party  among  the  French  revo- 
lutionists, —  Kobespierre,  St.  Just,  etc.,  —  and  of  mil- 
lions of  pious  but  uncritical  souls  afterwards.  It 
contributed  important  elements  to  the  Neo-Catholic  re- 
naissance in  the  Latin  countries,  and  to  the  Protestant 
reaction  in  the  Germanic,  as  well  as  to  English  and 
American  Unitarianism.  It  is  the  determining  ele- 
ment in  the  extensive  theological  movements  initiated 
by  Schleiermacher  and  Kitschl,  and  is  perpetuated  in 
thousands  of  learned  books  down  to  our  own  time, 
when  it  forms  the  chief  element  in  religion,  taking 
the  place  of  dogma,  and  so  bidding  defiance  to  the 
results  of  criticism,  "higher"  and  lower.  Thanks, 
in  great  part,  to  Rousseau,  religion  has,  in  our  time, 
become  a  matter,  not  of  spiritual  insight  and  settled 
conviction,  which  in  their  nature  are  universal,  but 
rather  of  sentiment  and  emotion,  which  are  necessarily 
individual.  It  was  a  great  misfortune  for  France,  as 
well  as  for  the  world,  that,  when  changes  in  life  and 
developments  in  science  made  a  new  attitude  in  regard 
to  religion  necessary,  the  matter  should  have  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  two  such  men  as  Voltaire  and  Rous- 
seau, who,  being  equally  without  profound  knowledge, 
philosophical  acumen,  and  moral  firmness,  were  utterly 
unfitted  to  deal  worthily  w4th  it.  The  one  pulled 
down  with  the  tools  of  scornful  wit  and  insidious  per- 
siflage ;  the  other  built  up  with  the  nervous,  ineffective 
hands  of  romantic  sentiment  and  dalliant  emotion. 
The  result  has  been,  on  the  one  hand,  an  irrational, 
paralyzing  scepticism,  and,  on  the  other,  an  enfee- 
bling, voluptuous  mysticism,  both  equally  favorable 
to  superstition  and  to  neglect  of  moral  life.     Between 


228  ROUSSEAU 

these  France  has  been  suffering  depletion  and  exhaus- 
tion for  over  a  hundred  years. 

In  Art,  and  especially  in  Literature,  Rousseau's 
influence  has,  from  his  own  days  to  ours,  been 
almost  paramount  throughout  Christendom.  Indeed, 
modern  art  and  literature,  with  their  fondness  for  the 
picturesque,  the  natural,  the  rural,  the  emotionally 
religious,  the  analysis  of  sentiment,  and  the  interplay 
of  passions,  and  their  rebellion  against  the  stiff  and 
the  conventional,  may  almost  be  said  to  date  from 
Rousseau.  There  is  no  room  here  to  trace  his  foot- 
steps in  the  studiedly  rural  cottages  and  picturesque, 
half-wild  parks,  so  common  in  Europe  and  America; 
in  the  landscape  paintings,  genre-pictures,  and  pict- 
ures of  pathetic  or  religious  emotion,  that  fill  our  gal- 
leries ;  or  in  the  nature  groups  and  sentimentally  posed 
figures  that  delight  the  majority  of  our  sculptors ;  but 
we  must  follow  them  here  and  there  in  the  paths  of 
literature,  on  which  they  are  everywhere  to  be  found, 
in  France,  in  Germany,  in  England,  in  Italy,  in 
Greece,  in  Scandinavia,  in  Russia.  As  to  French 
literature,  in  the  last  hundred  years,  it  is  soaked  in 
Rousseau's  teaching  from  beginning  to  end.  Its  form 
and  its  matter  are  alike  due  to  him.  Its  simplicity, 
its  clear  and  effective  style,  its  frequent  glittering 
superficiality,  its  morbid  pathos  and  insincere  virtue, 
its  outspokenness  and  lubricity  are  among  its  debts 
to  him.  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre  and  Madame  de 
Stael ;  Lamartine  and  De  Vigny ;  Chateaubriand  and 
Montalembert;  Saintaine  and  De  Maistrej  M^rimee 
and  Michelet;  De  Musset  and  George  Sand;  Victor 
Hugo  and  Balzac ;  Dumas  and  Eugene  Sue ;  Souvestre 


ilOUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  229 

and  De  Senancou  s  Cousin  and  Kenan ;  Taine  and  Ste. 
Beuve;  Bourget  a 'id  Zola;  Coppee  and  Loti;  Gautier 
and  Amiel,  with  hundreds  more,  are  all  his  disciples. 
He  is  the  parent  alike  of  the  Neo-Christians  and  the 
decadents;  of  the  romanticists  and  the  realists.  It 
may  be  added  that  his  influence  has  been  far  greater 
than  Voltaire's. 

When  we  turn  to  German  literature,  we  find  almost 
the  same  condition  of  things.  The  Storm-and-Stress 
Period  in  Germany  was  mainly  due  to  the  ferment 
caused  by  Rousseau's  teaching.  It  affected  her 
greatest  geniuses,  Goethe  and  Schiller,  Kcerner  and 
Von  Kleist.  Goethe,  at  first,  completely  succumbed 
to  it,  as  we  see  from  such  works  as  the  Triumph  of 
Sentimentality  and  the  Sorrows  of  Young  Werther;  but 
his  strong  nature  in  time  threw  it  off,  and  turned  to 
a  healthy  classicism.  Nevertheless,  its  traces  appear 
in  all  his  works,  especially  in  his  lyrics,  many  of 
which  Rousseau,  had  he  been  an  artist,  might  have 
written.  And,  after  all,  Faust  is  only  a  grown-up 
Emile,  breaking  away  from  faith  and  culture,  and 
entrusting  himself  to  a  bad  tutor;  while  Wilhelm 
Meister  is  an  Emile  with  no  tutor  at  all.  Schiller 
was  still  more  deeply  and  permanently  influenced. 
His  lyrics  are  full  of  Eousselian  "Nature,"  pathos, 
and  emotional  religiosity,  while  his  Robbers,  that 
chaotic  drama  of  wild  revolt,  might  have  been  written 
by  Rousseau.  Indeed,  Rousseau's  lachrymose  senti- 
mentality and  emotional  prodigality  seized  upon  the 
German  people,  like  an  epidemic,  and  long  affected, 
for  the  most  part  injuriously,  both  its  life  and  its 
literature.    We  can  trace  them  in  Kcerner  and  Kotze- 


280  ROUSSEAU 

hue;  in  the  Von  Kleists  and  ?  iilegels;  in  the 
Humboldts  and  Grimms;  in  Ficb  -e  and  Schelling; 
in  Novalis  and  Richter;  in  Heine  and  Rueckert; 
in  Lenau  and  Platen  j  in  Freytag  and  Auerbach;  in 
Heyse  and  Spielhagen ;  in  Fanny  Lewald  and  Johanna 
Ambrosius,  and  in  many  more. 

In  England,  Rousseau's  influence  upon  literature, 
though  all-pervasive,  was,  in  the  main,  beneficial. 
The  English  bee  sucked  the  honey  and  rejected  the 
poison,  for  the  most  part,  only  becoming  occasionally 
dizzy  with  the  opium  of  nature-mysticism.  Under 
the  influence  of  Rousseau,  the  poets  of  Great  Britain 
broke  away  from  the  monotonous,  aphoristic  stilted- 
ness  of  Pope  and  his  school,  and  returned  to  "  Nature '' 
and  simplicity.  Burns,  whose  debt  to  Rousseau  was 
very  great,  and  Lady  Nairne  led  the  way.  They  were 
followed  by  Keats, ^  Shelley,  and  Byron;  Southey, 
Coleridge,   and  Wordsworth ;  ^  Leigh  Hunt  and  the 


1  Keats  came  nearer  to  Rousseau,  in  intensity  of  feeling  for 
Nature,  than  any  other  man,  and  he  was  of  finer  texture. 

*  Wordsworth,  "that  uttered  nothing  base,"  was,  in  all  but 
moral  infirmity,  a  thorough-going  disciple  of  Rousseau.  He  even 
followed  him  in  his  mystic  feeling  for  Nature,  and  his  confusion  of 
the  tenderly  emotional  with  the  ethical.  Hence  such  sheer  nonsense 
as  this :  — 

"  One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood 
May  teach  you  more  of  man, 
Of  moral  evil  and  of  good, 
Than  all  the  sages  can." 

If  this  be  true,  let  us  abandon  all  sages  and  all  books,  and  sit  at  th« 
feet  of  some  "  vernal  wood  " !  Wordsworth  is  full  of  such  beguiling 
untruths.  What,  for  example,  could  be  more  untrue  than  that  '*  the 
child  is  father  of  the  man,"  or  that  "  our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a 
forgetting  "  ?  His  whole  emotional  pantheism,  so  dear  to  sensuous 
dalliers,  is  Rousselian  and  immoral  to  the  core. 


ROUSSEAU'S  INFLUENCE  231 

Brownings ;  Carlyle  and  Ruskin ;  ^  Clough  and  Tenny- 
son ;  Morris  and  Swinburne ;  Dickens  and  Thackeray ; 
George  Eliot  and  Mrs.  Ward.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  they  were  followed  by  Longfellow  and 
Lowell;  Whittier  and  Emerson.  Apart  from  Ameri- 
can differences,  the  last  is  the  most  loyal  disciple  that 
Rousseau  ever  had.  His  patriarchal  country  life 
came  as  near  as  possible  to  Rousseau's  highest  ideal. 
And  their  whole  view  of  the  world,  and  of  their  rela- 
tions to  it,  were  very  much  the  same.  Both  loved 
Nature,  and  felt  inexpressible  mystic  meanings  in  it; 
both  preferred  solitude,  and  felt  that  society  was  in 
conspiracy  against  the  freedom  of  the  individual; 
both  were  pantheists  and,  in  theory.  Stoics.  Emer- 
son's essay  on  Self-reliance  would  have  delighted 
Rousseau.  Both  avoided  social  ties  and  political  life. 
Both  believed  that  man  is  essentially  good,  and  will 
deveTojp'best,  if  left  to  give  free  expression  to  his 
spontaneity.  Both  believed  in  an  Oversoul,  of  which 
man  is  merely  a  partaker,  and  to  which  he  ought  to 
lay  himself  open  in  passive  receptivity.  Both  scorned 
consistency,  and  sought  to  draw  the  most  from  each 
passing  mood.  Both  were  averse  to  consecutive,  logi- 
cal thought  and  sustained  scientific  inquiry.  And  the 
list  of  resemblances  might  be  added  to  indefinitely. 
But  Emerson  was  a  Puritan. 

Italian  literature  did  not  escape  the  universal  con- 
tagion. The  writings  of  Leopardi  and  Foscolo ;  Man- 
zoni  and  D'Azeglio^  Carducci  and  Costanzo;  Rapisardi 

1  The  resemblance  of  these  two  men,  in  different  ways,  to  Rous- 
seau is  very  remarkable.  The  one  inherited  his  contempt  for  civili- 
zation, the  other  his  love  of  Nature. 


232  ROUSSEAU 

and  D'Annunzio,  not  to  mention  Ada  Negri  and  many 
others,  are  all  more  or  less  inspired  by  Rousseau. 
There  is  no  room  to  speak  of  the  literatures  of 
Greece,  Scandinavia,  and  Russia;  but  what  is  true 
of  the  others  is  equally  true  of  them.  Ibsen,  for 
example,  is  Rousselian  to  the  core,  in  his  contempt 
for  society  and  its  hollow,  soul-corrupting  conven- 
tions. 

It  is  almost  superfluous  to  speak  of  Rousseau^s  in- 
fluence on  Politics,  practical  and  theoretical.  He  is 
the  father  of  Democracy.  The  French  Revolution 
was,  in  very  large  degree,  his  work.  While  repres- 
sive respect  for  authority  in  life  and  thought  was 
relinquishing  its  hold,  under  the  inexorable  lash  of 
l\j  Voltaire's  bitter  tongue,  Rousseau  was  passionately 
calling  upon  the  men,  thus  set  free,  to  rise  up,  cast  off 
their  loosened  chains,  and  claim  the  freedom  with 
which  God  and  Nature  had  endowed  them,  and  live 
thenceforth  in  "Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity."/ 
His  passion  prevailed,  and  France  rose  in  blind  fury, 
bathed  herself  in  blood,  and  lighted  a  conflagration 
that  burnt  for  thirty  years.  When,  at  last,  it  was 
quenched  in  blood,  Europe  hardly  recognized  herself. 
She  looked  the  same;  but  she  felt  that  she  was  not 
the  same.  Authority,  in  the  old  sense,  had  been 
burnt  away,  and  a  green  crop  of  freedom  was  spring- 
ing up  in  its  place.  What  this  meant,  neither  France 
nor  the  other  nations  of  Europe  have  yet  learnt;  but 
they  are  learning.  And  they  are  learning  also  that 
most  important  of  all  social  lessons,  that  no  revolution, 
inspired  by  such  irreverent  and  passionate  motives  as 
those  furnished  by  Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  can  fail 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  233 

to  bring  destruction  and  woe,  which  only  the  gentle, 
slow-moving  hand  of  Eeason  can  wipe  away. 

If  the  American  Revolution  was  due  to  the  spirit  of 
liberty  inherent  in  the  English  people,  the  formulas  in 
which  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  couched 
were  largely  drawn  from  Rousseau.  When  its  f ramers 
demanded  "  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  " 
for  every  citizen,  they  were  speaking  in  his  language. 
Their  calmer  natures,  formed  for  political  freedom, 
enabled  them  to  avoid  his  sentimental  exaggerations, 
and  to  make  provision  for  it;  but  his  influence  helped 
to  make  them  forget  that  every  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence needs  to  be  supplemental  by  a  Declaration 
of  Interdependence.  As  a  result,  we  are  too  fond  of 
political  isolation,  and  too  prone  to  individual  isola- 
tion. As  a  people,  we  are  slow  to  recognize  our  duties 
to  other  peoples ;  as  individuals,  we  are  sadly  deficient 
in  public  spirit,  and  in  loyalty  to  what  our  constitu- 
tion stands  for.  The  hand  of  the  unsocial  Rousseau 
is  still  heavy  upon  us,  carrying  us  back  to  savagery. 

Upon  Political  Theory  the  effect  of  Rousseau's  teach- 
ing has  been  so  great  that  he  may  fairly  be  called  the 
father  of  modern  political  science.  Though  that  sci- 
ence, in  its  progress,  has  shown  most  of  his  positions 
to  be  baseless,  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  these  have 
formed  the  centre  of  all  political  speculation  for  the 
last  hundred  years.  He  gave  wrong  answers  to  the 
questions  which  he  propounded;  but  these  questions 
were  just  the  ones  that  required  to  be  answered.  The 
Social  Contract  does  not  lie  at  the  beginning  of  social 
progress,  but  is  the  end  to  which  it  forever  tends. 

Hovering  between  two  equally  immoral  systems, 


234  ROUSSEAU 

Epicureanism  and  Stoicism,  and  having  apparently  no 
experience  of  free  will,  Eousseau  developed  no  Ethical 
System.  Nevertheless,  his  views  were  not  without 
effect  upon  subsequent  ethical  theories.  His  notion 
that  we  have  a  sense  for  good,  just  as  we  have  a  sense 
for  smell,  —  a  notion  which  takes  morality  out  of  the 
region  of  reason  and  will  altogether,  —  has  found 
many  followers  among  sentimentalists ;  while  his  doc- 
trine that  man  should  not  seek  to  rise  above  the  laws 
of  necessity,^  but  remain  an  automaton,  has  found 
favor  with  all  those  who  have  sought  to  interpret 
Culture  by  Nature,  instead  of  Nature  by  Culture. 
His  insidious  glorification  of  sensuous  dalliance  has, 
naturally,  found  a  response  in  all  dalliant  natures. 

In  the  sphere  of  Economics,  Kousseau's  influence, 
though  great,  is  quite  different  from  what  he  expected. 
Though  entirely  averse  to  socialism  and  anarchism, 
he  was  in  large  degree  the  parent  of  both.  They 
arose  from  the  spirit  of  his  teaching,  rather  than 
from  his  teaching  itself.  In  his  remarkable  article 
on  Political  Economyy  written  for  the  EncyclopMie,  he 
points  out  the  danger  of  looking  upon  society  as  an 
organism,  most  strongly  defends  the  rights  of  private 
property,  and  justifies  the  State  in  imposing  taxes. 
"It  is  certain,"  he  says,  "that  the  right  of  property 
is  the  most  sacred  of  all  the  rights  of  the  citizens, 
more  important  in  certain  aspects  than  liberty  itself, 
whether  because  it  is  more  closely  connected  with  the 
preservation  of  life,  or  because  property,  being  more 
easy  to  usurp,  and  more  difficult  to  defend,  than  per- 
son, ought  to  be  more  carefully  respected,  or,  finally, 

1  Cf .  Faust,  Prologue  in  Heaven,  lines  39-^. 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  235 

because  property  is  the  true  foundation  of  civil  life, 
and  the  true  warrant  for  the  obligations  of  citizens  j 
for,  if  property  were  not  responsible  for  persons, 
nothing  would  be  so  easy  as  to  elude  one^s  duties  and 
defy  the  laws."  .  .  .  "The  first  thing  which  the 
founder  of  a  commonwealth  has  to  do,  after  laying 
down  laws,  is  to  find  a  fund  sufficient  for  the  support 
of  magistrates  and  other  officers,  and  for  all  public 
expenses.  This  fund  is  called  cerarium  or  JisCj  if 
it  is  in  money ;  public  domain,  if  it  is  in  land ;  and 
for  obvious  reasons,  the  latter  is  far  preferable  to  the 
former."  .  .  .  "A  public  domain  is  the  surest  and 
most  honest  of  all  means  of  providing  for  the  needs 
of  the  state."  Though  holding  this,  he  does  not  ob- 
ject to  taxation,  merely  insisting  that  it  shall  not  be 
imposed  except  by  a  vote  of  the  people.  But,  when 
he  inveighs,  with  bitter  scorn,  against  the  venality 
and  corruption  of  public  officials,  and  maintains  that 
/*  it  is  one  of  the  most  important  functions  of  govern- 
ment to  prevent  extreme  inequalities  of  fortune,  not 
by  taking  accumulated  wealth  away  from  its  posses- 
sors, but  by  depriving  them  of  the  means  to  accumu- 
late it;  and  not  by  building  hospitals  for  the  poor, 
but  by  guaranteeing  citizens  against  the  chance  of 
becoming  such,"  he  accepts  the  fundamental  principle 
of  socialism,  which  naturally  calls  forth  its  opposite, 
anarchism ;  and  principles  have  a  vitality  far  beyond 
the  will  and  intent  of  him  who  propounds  them. 
Moreover,  Rousseau's  Stoicism  is  virtual  socialism, 
while  his  Epicureanism  is  virtual  anarchism,  as  could 
easily  be  shown.  It  ought  to  be  added  that  one  of  the 
noblest  and  most  conspicuous   traits  in  Eousseau's 


236  ROUSSEAU 

character  was  unfailing  sympathy  with  the  poor  and 
oppressed,  involving  hatred  of  their  oppressors;  and 
it  is  this  sympathy  and  this  hatred,  which  his  example 
did  much  to  make  common,  that  have,  respectively, 
caused  the  socialistic  and  anarchistic  movements  of 
this  century. 

/y  Finally,  in  Education,  the  influence  of  Rousseau  has 
been  powerful  beyond  measure.  He  may  fairly  be 
called  the  father  of  modern  pedagogy,  even  despite 
the  fact  that  most  of  his  positive  teachings  have  had 
to  be  rejected.  Comenius,  Locke,  and  others  had, 
indeed,  done  good  work  before  him ;  but  it  was  he  that 
first,  with  his  fiery  rhetoric,  made  the  subject  of  edu- 
cation a  burning  question,  and  rendered  clear  its  con- 
nection with  all  human  welfare.  The  whole  gospel 
of  modern  education  lies  in  such  passages  as  this: 
"  It  is  from  the  first  moment  of  our  lives  that  we  ought 
to  learn  to  deserve  to  live ;  and  as,  at  our  birth,  we 
share  in  the  rights  of  citizens,  the  moment  of  our 
birth  ought  to  be  the  beginning  of  the  exercise  of  our 
rights.  If  there  are  laws  for  man's  estate,  there  ought 
to  be  laws  for  children,  teaching  them  to  obey  others ;  ^ 
and,  seeing  that  we  do  not  leave  each  man's  private 
reason  to  be  sole  judge  of  his  duties,  we  ought  to  be 
all  the  more  reluctant  to  hand  over  to  the  notions  and 
prejudices  of  fathers  the  education  of  their  children, 
that  it  affects  the  State  more  than  it  does  them."  It 
would  have  been  well  had  Rousseau  clung  firmly  to 
these  ideas. 

Of  Rousseau's  educational  demands,  perhaps  only 

1  It  is  needless  to  note  that  this  teaching  is  utterly  at  variance 
with  that  advanced  in  ^mile. 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  237 

three  have  been  responded  to:  (1)  the  demand  that 
children  should,  from  the  moment  of  their  birth,  be 
allowed  complete  freedom  of  movement ;  (2)  that  they 
should  be  educated  through  direct  experience,  and 
not  through  mere  information  derived  from  books; 
(3)  that  they  should  be  taught  to  use  their  hands  in 
the  production  of  useful  articles.  But  certain  others 
of  his  notions  lingered  on  for  a  time,  much  to  the 
detriment  of  education,  and  were  with  difficulty  shaken 
off.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  his  doctrines  influenced 
all  subsequent  educators. 

Among  these  the  first  important  and  influential 
name  is  that  of  his  countryman  Pestalozzi.  This 
genial  saint  undertook  to  reduce  to  practice  what 
Rousseau  had  preached,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to 
isolate  his  own  son  for  that  purpose.  Having  discov- 
ered the  folly  of  this  and,  therewith,  the  futility  of 
Rousseau's  exclusive  education,  and  being  moved  with 
pity  for  the  condition  of  the  laboring  classes,  sunk  in 
helpless  ignorance,  he  set  about  evolving  a  plan 
whereby  this  ignorance  might  be  removed  and  the 
poor  rendered  self -helpful.  Thus  his  sympathy  for 
the  common  people  led  him  to  a  course  altogether  dif- 
ferent from  that  recommended  by  Rousseau,  who  held 
that  the  poor  required  no  education.  The  truth  was, 
that,  though  Pestalozzi  started  from  the  same  point  as 
Rousseau,  their  ideas  of  education  were  diametrically 
opposed.  Rousseau  regarded  education  merely  as  a 
means  of  protecting  its  subjects  from  the  corruptions 
of  civilization,  and  securing  for  them  as  much  as  pos- 
sible of  their  natural  liberty,  whereas  Pestalozzi 
looked  upon  it  as  a  means  of  enabling  men  to  live  a 


2?>8  ROUSSEAU 

social  and  moral  life.  But,  as  has  often  been  said, 
Pestalozzi  was  a  sentimental  philanthropist,  rather 
than  a  philosophic  educator.  He  was  more  anxious 
that  his  pupils  should  learn  to  make  an  honest  living 
than  that  they  should  be  harmoniously  developed 
spiritual  beings,  and  hence  he  directed  his  chief 
efforts  to  the  former  end.  He  responded  to  Rous- 
seau's three  demands,  and  followed  him  in  his  emo- 
tional religiosity;  but  he  developed  no  educational 
principles  or  methods,  based  upon  the  nature  and  ends 
of  the  child.  His  crowning  merit  lay  in  seeing  that 
nothing  can  help  the  people  but  education,  and  in 
demanding  that  this  should  be  made  universal.  His 
example,  too,  inspired  others  to  do  what  he  could  not. 
Among  these  others,  the  most  notable  and  effective 
were  Herbart  (1776-1841)  and  Froebel  (1782-1852). 

Herbart,  a  philosopher  who,  having  revolted  from 
the  formalism  of  Kant,  had  betaken  himself  to  the 
study  of  psychology,  was,  apparently,  just  the  man 
to  supply  what  Pestalozzi  had  omitted,  and,  indeed, 
in  his  own  way,  he  did  so.  Setting  out  with  a  meta- 
physical, somewhat  Leibnizian,  conception  of  the  soul, 
as  a  monad,  he  tried  to  show  by  what  process,  in  its 
endeavor  to  preserve  its  existence  against  other 
monads,  continually  impinging  upon  it  and  invading 
it,  it  gradually,  through  successive  "apperceptions," 
built  up  that  complex  of  ideas  which  made  its  world 
rational,  and  enabled  it  to  lead  a  moral  life.  Such 
life,  in  active  relation  with  sub-human  nature  and 
with  society,  he  conceived  to  be  the  end  of  all  educa- 
tion. In  this  he  was  undoubtedly  right,  and  his  sys- 
tem may  almost  be  said  to  be  diametrically  opposed  to 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  239 

that  of  Kousseau.  Unfortunately,  his  academic  for- 
malism and  want  of  experience  betrayed  him  into 
a  metaphysic  that  was  purely  fanciful,  having  no 
foundation  either  in  dialectic  or  in  experience,  and 
into  a  psychology  that  was  to  the  last  degree  mathe- 
matical, materialistic,  and  mechanical.  Ideas  are 
treated  as  forces  which  may  be  compounded,  and 
whose  mechanical  relations  and  resultants  may  be 
stated  in  mathematical  formulas.  With  such  notions 
he  could,  of  course,  arrive  at  no  conception  of  a  free 
will  or  any  true  morality.^  To  him  will  is  nothing 
more  than  the  mechanical  resultant  of  his  idea-forces.* 
But,  in  spite  of  these  serious  drawbacks,  which  tend 
to  make  education  a  mere  mechanical  process,  Her- 
bart's  contributions  to  the  science  of  pedagogy  were 
most  valuable  and  lasting. 

Froebel,  the  prince  of  modern  educators,  may  be 
said  to  have  been  a  pupil  of  Pestalozzi's.  He,  too, 
undertook  to  do  what  the  latter  had  omitted,  namely, 
to  work  out  a  system  of  pedagogical  theory  and  prac- 
tice, based  upon  the  facts  of  human  nature,  and  cal- 
culated to  enable  it  to  reach  its  fullest  realization. 
Being  an  ardent  student,  and  somewhat  dreamy  lover, 
of  sub-human  nature,  he  was,  like  Rousseau,  prone  to 
a  kind  of  mystical  nature-pantheism,  which  seri- 
ously interfered  with  the  effect  of  his  work,  tending 
to  render  it  sentimental,  instead  of  rigorously  scien- 

1  This  comes  out,  with  striking  clearness,  in  his  notion  of  re- 
quital, which  he  thinks  is  an  ethical  one.  See  De  Garmo,  Herbart 
(in  this  series),  p.  52 ;  cf .  p.  56. 

2  Herbart's  psychology  has  found  many  disciples,  Lazarus,  Stein- 
thal,  Fechner,  Wundt,  etc. ;  and  a  Frenchman,  M.  Fouillee,  has 
written  a  book  entitled  Les  id^es-forces. 


240  ROUSSEAU 

tific.  This  trait  has  communicated  itself  to  many  of 
his  followers  and  done  much  mischief.  In  spite  of 
this,  Froebel  did  more  than  any  other  man  to  work 
out  a  scheme  for  the  gradual,  orderly,  and  healthy 
development  of  the  powers  of  the  child,  with  a  view 
to  rendering  him  a  social  and  moral  being,  a  worthy 
member  of  the  commonwealth  of  men  and  of  the  eter- 
nal kingdom  of  God.  Like  Herbart,  Froebel  held  that 
a  moral  life  was  the  end  of  all  education. 

Alongside  Pestalozzi,  Herbart,  and  Froebel,  must  be 
mentioned,  among  the  disciples  of  Kousseau,  a  man 
far  less  known  than  they,  but  well  deserving  of  care-^ 
f ul  study  by  all  educators  —  Antonio  Rosmini-Serbati 
(1797-1855).!  This  eminent  thinker,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  the  century,  derived  his  knowledge  of 
Eousseau  mainly  through  the  writings  of  Madame 
Necker  de  Saussure,  which  he  greatly  admired.  Pro- 
tected by  his  Catholicism  from  pantheism,  and  entirely 
free  from  sentimentalism,  Rosmini  elaborated  a  scheme 
of  education  on  the  basis  of  his  own  philosophy.  Ac- 
cording to  this,  the  human  soul  is  a  substantial  feeling, 
rendered  intelligent  by  having  presented  to  it,  as  ob- 
ject, ideal,  or  universal  and  undetermined,  being. 
This  is  at  first  the  sole  object  and  constituent  of  its 
consciousness.  In  the  process  of  experience,  the 
"fundamental  feeling,"  which  constitutes  the  subjec- 
tive aspect  of  the  soul,  is  modified  and,  at  the  same 
time,  the  indefinite  object,  being,  is  determined.  In 
this  way  there  gradually  arises  in  the  soul  a  world  of 

1  See  Father  Lockhart's  Life,  and  the  briefer  Life  prefixed  to 
my  translation  of  Rosmini's  Philosophical  System  (London,  Kegan 
Paul). 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  241 

feeling,  referred  to  being,  as  substance  and  cause.  In 
proportion  as  this  being  is  defined  through  feeling,  we 
see  the  truth,  or  God ;  for  ideal  being  is  but  God  un- 
defined. Since  all  reality  is  feeling,  and  all  ideality- 
God  unrealized,  morality  consists  in  so  ordering  our 
feelings  that  they  shall  gradually  define  God  for  us, 
and  thus  make  us  partakers  in  the  Beatific  Vision. 
However  strange  and  mediaeval  this  spiritual  mysti- 
cism may  seem,  it  enabled  Rosmini  to  work  out  a 
scheme  for  the  orderly  development  of  a  divine  world 
in  the  consciousness  of  the  child — a  scheme  which 
has  very  great  value,  even  for  those  who  cannot  accept 
its  presuppositions,  being  superior  to  those  of  Herbart 
and  Froebel  in  many  important  particulars.  Unfortu- 
nately, it  breaks  off  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  year  of 
the  child's  life ;  ^  and  we  cannot  but  regret  that  a  man 
so  eminently  fitted,  by  natural  temperament,  education, 
and  psychological  and  philosophic  insight,  for  peda- 
gogical research,  should  not  have  been  spared  to  com- 
plete his  work. 

To  give  an  account  of  all  the  educators  that  have 
been  influenced  by  the  teaching  of  Rousseau  would 
be  to  write  the  history  of  modern  pedagogy.  Enough 
has  already  been  said  to  show  the  nature  and  extent 
of  that  influence,  and  to  show  how  it  has  been  modi- 
fied and,  in  very  large  measure,  counteracted. 

As  one  reads  ^mile,  he  is  sometimes  tempted  to 
believe  that  Rousseau  wrote  it  merely  to  maintain  a 
thesis  which  he  did  not  believe,  but  wished  to  see  dis- 

1  Besides  the  (incomplete)  work  above  referred  to  (p.  110  n.), 
tliere  is  a  volume  of  essays  on  Pedagogics  by  Rosmini,  parts  of 
which  well  deserve  to  be  translated. 


242  ROUSSEAU 

cussed,  and  threw  it  down,  as  a  gauntlet,  to  challenge 
a  world  which  had  lost  all  real  interest  in  education, 
and  compel  it  to  defend,  if  it  could,  its  own  practice. 
Whether  so  intended  or  not,  this  has  certainly  been 
the  effect  of  the  book.  It  has  made  men  attempt  to 
defend  existing  systems  of  education,  and,  finding  that 
they  could  not,  resolve  and  endeavor  to  discover  better 
ones.  And  better  ones  have  been  discovered.  We  are 
gradually  gaining  light  with  regard  to  the  nature  and 
capacities  of  the  child,  and  getting  a  clearer  insight 
into  the  means  by  which  they  may  be  unfolded,  and 
the  destiny  to  which  they  tend.  We  now  know  that, 
instead  of  being  an  unreflective  and  immoral  automaton 
up  to  the  age  of  puberty,^  he  exercises  intelligence  and 
conscience  —  in  rudimentary  forms,  indeed  —  from  the 
hour  of  his  birth.  And  so  we  conclude  that  he  is  to 
be  governed  from  the  first,  not  by  the  law  of  neces- 
sity, but  by  that  of  freedom  and  righteous  love. 

But,  for  all  this,  there  is  still  much  to  be  done  in 
the  sphere  of  education.  We  have,  even  now,  no  sci- 
entific theory  of  pedagogy,  and  the  reason  is  that  we 
have  no  scientific  theory  of  human  nature.  We  are 
still  distracted  and  blinded  to  the  truth,  on  the  one 
hand,  by  certain  traditional  conceptions  that  once 
formed  part  of  a  view  of  the  world-economy,  long  since 
rendered  unbelievable  and  obsolete,  and  on  the  other 
by  certain  modern  philosophic  prejudices,  of  adualistic 
sort,  for  which  Kant  is  in  the  main  responsible.  The 
former  make  us  still  inclined  to  believe  that  the  soul 
is  a  created  substance,  beyond  the  reach  of  experience, 
a  transcendental  monad  possessed  of  certain  fixed  fac- 

1  Herbart  wrote  essays  on  the  freedom  of  the  will  at  fourteen. 


ROUSSEAU'S   INFLUENCE  243 

ulties,  and  capable  of  being  trained  only  in  a  certain 
definite  direction  to  a  fore-appointed  end.  The  latter 
make  us  believe  that  it  is  a  bundle  of  categories,  empty 
thought-forms,  existing  prior  to  all  sensation  or  ex- 
perience, and  conditioning  it.  In  either  case,  we  are 
irrationally  induced  to  regard,  and  to  talk  about,  the 
soul  as  something  other  than  what  by  experience,^  the 
only  source  of  true  knowledge,  we  know  it  to  be,  and 
thus  to  build  our  educational  theories  upon  a  mere 
chimera.  There  is  not  one  fact  in  our  experience  going 
to  show  that  the  soul  is  either  a  substance  or  a  bundle 
of  categories.  Indeed,  when  subtly  considered,  these 
words  are  absolutely  without  meaning.  When  we  ask 
what  we  knoic  the  soul  to  be,  we  can  only  answer :  A 
sentient  desire,  or  desiderant  feeling,  which,  through 
its  own  effort  after  satisfaction,  gradually  differentiates 
itself  into  a  world,  or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  gradu- 
ally learns  to  refer  its  satisfactions  to  a  world  of  things 
in  time  and  space.  Feeling  is  primary ;  ideas,  or  differ- 
entiations in  feeling,  are  secondary  —  exactly  the  con- 
trary of  w^hat  Herbart  believed.  The  world  that  we 
know,  whether  material  or  spiritual,  is  entirely  made 
up  of  feeling  differentiated  by  ideas.  The  end  of  edu- 
cation, therefore,  can  be  none  other  than  the  complete 
satisfaction  of  feeling,  by  an  ever-increasing  harmoni- 
ous, that  is,  unitary,  differentiation  of  it  into  a  world 
of  sources  of  satisfaction.  This  satisfaction  will  be 
greater  in  proportion  as  the  sources  are  more  numer- 
ous and  richer.     Hence,  every  soul  will  be  consulting 

-  This  does  not  mean  merely  what  is  called  "  sense-exi)erience," 
but  includes  all  the  intelligible  phenomena  of  consciousness,  even 
metaphysical  ones. 


244  ROUSSEAU 

for  its  own  satisfaction,  by  doing  its  best  to  satisfy 
every  other  soul,  and  to  make  it  as  rich  as  possible. 
Thus  the  most  perfect  egoism  will  be  found  to  be  one 
with  the  most  perfect  altruism,  and  the  law  of  virtue 
to  be  one  with  the  law  of  blessedness,  as,  in  the  end 
it  must  be,  unless  all  existence  be  a  mockery.  On 
this  view  of  the  soul,  and  on  this  alone,  will  it  be 
possible  to  erect  an  intelligible  and  coherent  structure 
of  education,  intellectual,  affectional,  and  moral. 


BRIEF  BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Or  the  numerous  editions  of  the  works  of  Rousseau 
the  best  is  that  by  Musset-Pathay  (Paris,  Dupont, 
1823),  in  twenty-three  volumes  octavo.  A  serviceable 
edition  is  that  published  by  Hachette,  Paris,  1865,  in 
duodecimo. 

The  works  of  Rousseau  which  bear  on  the  subject  of 
education  are  these :  — 

1.  Has  the  Reestahlishment  of  the  Sciences  and  Arts  con- 
tributed to  purify  Morals  ?  with  the  Letter  to  M.  Grimm,  the 
Reply  to  the  King  of  Poland,  Reply  to  M.  Bordes,  and  Letter 
on  a  New  Refutation  (published  1750  sq.). 

2.  What  is  the  Origin  of  Inequality  among  Men,  and  is  it 
authorized  by  the  Natural  Laio  ?  (1754). 

3.  The  New  Heloise  (1761). 

4.  Tlie  Social  Contract  (1762). 

5.  ^mile  (1762),  with  ^mile  and  Sophie,  or  the  Solitaries 
(written  1778). 

6.  Letters  to  M.  de  Malesherbes  (1762). 

7.  Letters  from  the  Mountain  (1764). 

8.  Political  Economy  (in  the  Encyclopedic). 

9.  Confessions  (written  1766-70 ;  published.  Part  I., 
1781;  Part  II.,  1788). 

10.   iJet-mes  (written  1777-78). 

The  following  are  the  best  works  on  Rousseau :  — 

1.  Musset-Pathay,  Histoire  de  la  Vie  et  des  Outrages  de 
J. -J.  Rousseau,  Paris,  1821. 

2.  Streckeisen-Moultou,  Rousseau,  ses  Amis   et  ses 

Ennemis,  Paris,  1865. 

245 


246  BRIEF   BIBLIOGRAPHY 

3.  H.  Beaudoin,  La  Vie  et  les  CEuvres  de  J.- J.  Rousseau^ 
Paris,  1871. 

4.  St.  Marc  Girardin,  J.-J.  Rousseau^  sa  Vie  et  ses 
CEuv)'es,  Paris,  1875. 

5.  John  Morley,  Rousseau,  London  and  New  York,  1891. 

6.  Chuquet,  /.-/.  Rousseau,  Paris,  1893. 

There  is  interesting  information  regarding  Rousseau  and 
his  influence  to  be  found  in  Hermann  Hettner's  Literaturge- 
schichte  des  XVIIIten  Jahrhunderts,  YoL  XL,  pp.  431-517, 
and  in  H.  Michel's  L'Idee  de  I  'Etat,  pp.  37-45. 

Of  Rousseau's  IJmile,  there  exist  several  English 
translations,  two  of  them  made  in  the  author's  life- 
time.    The  most  accessible  are  these :  — 

Rousseau's  Emile,  or  Treatise  on  Education.  Abridged 
and  annotated  by  William  H.  Payne,  Ph.D.,  LL.D.  New 
York :  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  1893. 

Rousseau's  Eniile,  or  Concerning  Education.  Extracts 
with  an  Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Jules  Steeg.  Boston: 
D.  C.  Heath  &  Co.,  1885. 


INDEX 


Ab^lard,  S  not*  2. 

Academies,  149,  176. 

Adolescence,  156  gqq. 

^schylus,  6  note  2. 

Esthetic  theory,  175. 

Agnosticism,  167  tioU  1,  225  TioU  2 

Agriculture,  144. 

Agrippa,  Menenius,  11  note  4. 

Al  Ghazzali,  208. 

Alembert.    See  D'Alembert. 

Althusen,  20. 

Altruism,  244. 

American  boy,  123. 

Animal  food,  182  eq. 

Annecy,  36,  41. 

Anthropomorphism,  165. 

Antigone,  128  note. 

Antony,  Mark,  25  not«. 

Aquinas,  Thomas,  208. 

Archimandrite,  42. 

Aristotle,  77,  89,  97,  223. 

Aristotle  (Davidson),  79,  101  note 

141  notes. 
Armenian  costume,  66. 
Astronomy,  139  agq. 
Automaton,  128. 

B 

BAb,  the,  91. 
Bacon,  Francis,  8. 
Balfour,  Arthur,  226  nois, 
Bellamy,  Edward,  93. 
Bellegarde,  Mdlle.  de,  55. 
Berlin,  67. 
Berne,  66. 
Bienne,  Lake  of,  66. 
Blacksmithing,  141. 
Bodln,  20. 


1, 


Books,  183,  185, 142. 

Bossey,  29  sqg. 

Bossuet,  ffist.  Univ.,  27. 

Bourgoin,  69. 

Bowen,  H.  C.  (FrcebeZ),  219. 

Boyhood,  187  sqq. 

Broglie,  Mde.  de,  52. 

Browning,  Mrs.,  6  note  1. 

Bryce,  James,  4  note  1. 

Buddhist,  169. 

Burns,  Eobert,  145  note,  2,  280. 

Burton  (Hv/me),  159  note. 


CsBsar,  Julius,  25  note,  161  note. 

Cakes  and  candy,  129  note  2. 

Calais,  69. 

Calvinism,  15. 

Candy,  129  note  2,  181. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  231  note. 

Carpenter,  Edward,  120  note. 

Carpentry,  144. 

Catechumens,  Hospice  of,  86. 

Categorical  Imperative,  194,  195  note, 

228. 
Cecil  (Pseudo-Philosophy),  225  noU 

2. 
Chambdry,  44  sqq.,  69. 
Character  of  Rousseau,  81,  71  tqq. 
Charles  II.,  15. 

Charmettes,  Les,  46,  66,  187  not*. 
Childhood,  118  sqq. 
Children,  Rousseau's,  56,  106  ru>t». 
Chivalry,  217. 
Cities,  196,  210. 
Clarke,  Samuel,  166  gq, 
Comenius,  236. 
Common  sense,  188. 
Commonwealth,  13. 


247 


248 


INDEX 


Condillac,  Abbe,  47,  55. 

Confession  of  Faith.    See  Savoyard 

Vicar. 
Confessions  (Rousseau's),  3,  85,  38, 

41,  45,  50,  67,  68,  79,  105  note,  128 

notel,  158  note  2, 177, 
Confignon,  86. 
Conti,  Prince  de,  65,  69. 
Contract,  social,  10  sqq.,  16  sqq. 
Corsica,  67. 
Country,  196. 

Criticism,  Kantian,  167  note  1,  224. 
Critique  of  the  Pure  Reason,  224. 
Critique  of  Judgment,  225. 
Culture,  80,  98,  100,  102,  175, 218,  223, 

234. 
Curiosity,  189. 
Cyclopean  freedom,  218. 

D 

D'Alembert,  56,  63,  68. 

Dalliers,  24. 

Dante,  3,  4  notes,  11  note  2,  101  note, 

etc. 
Darwin,  Charles,  129  note  2. 
Davenport  (Mr).,  68. 
Death  of  Rousseau,  70. 
Declaration  of  Independence,  283, 
De  Garmo,  Charles   {Herhart),  289 

note. 
Denzinger  (^Enchiridion),  5  note  1. 
Derbyshire,  68. 
Descartes,  8,  45,  92  note,  164  note, 

168, 
Devin  du  Village,  59, 
Dialogues  (Rousseau's),  70. 
Diderot,  51,  55«g?.,  63. 
Dijon,  Academy  of,  56,  81. 
Discourse  on  Progress  of  Arts,  56,  77. 
Discourse  on  Inequality,  66,  77,  83 

sqq. 
Doctor,  130  note  3. 
Dogma,  164,  182  sqq. 
Domain,  public,  255. 
Dover,  69. 
Dress,  change  of,  59, 
Drummond,  Henry,  255. 
Duclos,  174. 


E 

Economics,  284. 

Eden,  80. 

Education  by  nature,  102,  210, 236  sqq. 

Egoism,  244. 

Eliot,  George,  169  note  1. 

Emerson,  R.  W.,  151  note  1, 156,  210 

note,  231. 
J^mile,  62  sqq.,  70,  77,  97  sqq, 
;6mile's  travels,  195. 
Encyclopaedists,  63. 
Encyclopedie,  56. 
England,  67, 
English,  the,  133, 
Epicureanism,  190,  215,  284  tq. 
:6pinay,  Mde.  d',  55,  61,  62, 
Equality,  9,  16, 
Ermenonville,  70  sq. 
Ethical  system,  Rousseau's,  284. 
Europeans,  196. 
Existence,  social  and  moral,  214. 


Fastidiousness,  109. 

Faust.    See  Goethe, 

Fechner,  281  note. 

Feeling,  85  note,  91,  108  note,  158;, 

213,  243, 
Filmer,  Sir  Robert,  16. 
Fontenelle,  28,  51, 
Form,  sense  of,  132, 
Fouill6e,  239  note  2, 
Frederick  the  Great,  65  sg.,  68, 
Freedom,  11,  18,  198,  220, 
French  language,  176. 
Froebel,  238  sqq. 

G 

Gaime,  Abb6,  38. 

Gatier,  M,,  40  and  not*. 

Gaures,  the,  188. 

Generosity,  126. 

Geneva,  and  Lake,  26,  41,  60,  66. 

Gentlemanliness,  81,  217. 

Geography,  130. 

Girls'  education,  178  sqq. 

Girardin,  M,,  70. 

Gluttony,  182. 


INDEX 


249 


Goethe  {Faugt),  5  nots  8,  T  note  2, 
24,  25  no^e,  50  n<??'«,  104  note  1, 118, 
117  note  1,  225  7io<«  3,  229  ;  ( Wilh. 
MeUttr),  lib  note  8,  229. 

"Good  Time,"  120. 

Gouvon,  Comte  de,  38. 

Grammar,  133. 

Greek,  176. 

Grenoble,  69. 

Gretchen  {Faust),  50  note. 

Grimm,  63, 129  iwte  2. 

Grotius,  Hugo,  20,  196  sq, 

H 

Habit,  108. 

Hamlet,  26  note. 

Handicraft,  146  and  note  2. 

Hatch  {Hihbert  Led.),  7  not*  1. 

Hearing,  182. 

Hegel,  14  note  4,  211,  226. 

Helvetius,  169. 

Herbart,  238,  242  gq. 

Herhart,  De  Garmo,  239  note  1. 

Hermes  of  Praxiteles,  216  sq. 

Hermitage,  the,  60,  66. 

Herodotus,  161  note. 

Hiero's  fountain,  39. 

History,  188,  153,  161  sq. 

Hobbes  {Leviathan),  8  sqq.,  11,  80, 

97, 100,  196  sq. 
Homer,  189,  218  note. 
Hooker,  14  note  8,  20,  77. 
Houdetot,  Comtesse  d',  65,  61, 
Humanists,  6. 
Hume,  David,  67,  80  note,  103  note, 

159  note,  224. 
Hurons,  148. 
Huxley,  92  note,  167  note  1,  222  note. 


Ideas,  86,  188,  152,  248. 

Independence,  Declaration  of,  86,  288. 

Individualism,  4. 

Industry,  146. 

Infancy,  97  sqq. 

Inheritance,  147. 

Intolerance,  184,  215. 

Isl^m,  15. 

Italian  language,  17ft. 


Jacobite,  65.     • 

James,  William,  223,  225  note  3. 
James  II.,  16. 
Jerusalem,  42. 
Jesuits,  51,  98,  129  note  2. 
Jordan,  "Wilhelm,  203. 
Judgment,  evil  of,  150,  152. 
Jura,  Mt.,  66. 
Jus  Naturale,  124. 
Justice,  124. 

Justinian  (Institutes),  11  not*  8,  14 
note  2. 

K 

Kant,  86  note,  108  note,  195  note, 

224  sq.,  242. 
Keats,  John,  280  note  1. 
Keith,  Marshal,  66  sq.,  67. 
Kidd,  Benjamin,  226  note. 
King  Lear,  86,  100  note  1. 
Kleist,  Fr.  von,  210. 
Koerner,  Theodor,  229, 


Labor,  division  of,  84 ;  duty  of,  146  sq. 

La  Bruyere,  28. 

La  Fontaine,  133. 

Lambercier,  M.  and  Mdlle.,  29  sqq. 

Language,  85,  133. 

Latin,  29,  88,  40,  176. 

Lausanne,  41. 

Law  of  Nature,  9  sqq.,  21  sqq. 

Lazarus,  239  note  2. 

Learning,  despised  by  Rousseau,  149. 

Leibniz,  45. 

Lersch  (Sprackphilosophie),  6  note 

2. 
Le  Saenr  (Hist,  of  Church,  etc.),  27. 
Levite  of  Ephraim,  65. 
Lex  Katuralis,  9. 
Liberty,  9,  11,.  118. 
Life,  147. 
Lincolnshire,  69. 
Literature,  133. 
Livy,  11  note  4,  161  note. 
Locke,  John,  8,  16  sqq.,  46,  78  note, 

80,  97,  98,  163,  236. 
London,  67. 


250 


INDEX 


Lowell,  J.  R.,  99  note  2,  128  note. 
Luxembourg,  Duke  and  Duchess  ot, 

62  sqq.,  105  note. 
Lying,  126. 
Lyons,  40,  48,  4T,  51. 

M 

Mftbly,  M.  de,  47. 

Macbeth,  220  note. 

Machlavelli,  20. 

Magician,  140  sq. 

Magnetism,  140  aq. 

Maine,  Sir  H.  S.,  92  not«  8. 

Malebranche,  8,  45. 

Malesherbes,  M.  de,  74,  77. 

'*  Mamma,"  41  and  often. 

Manhood,  208  sqq. 

Manual  training,  145. 

Marriage  of  Rousseau,  69. 

Marriage  of  ifemile,  201. 

Marseilles,  204. 

Marsiglio  di  Padova,  20. 

Meaning,  228. 

Mecca,  Meccans,  97, 165. 

Mercure  de  France,  56. 

Metaphysics,  158. 

Mtrabeau,  Marquis  de,  69. 

Moli^re,  28. 

Monquin,  69. 

Montaigu,  Comte  de,  52  $q. 

Montesquieu,  20  »q,,  197. 

Montmorency,  62  $q. 

Montpellier,  46. 

Moors,  207. 

Morals,  158. 

Morelly,  20  sq. 

Morley,  J.  (Bouiseau),  4,  80  note. 

Metiers,  66. 

Muhammad,  91,  99. 

N 

Nairne,  Lady,  230. 
Nani  {ffist.  of  Venice),  28. 
Naples,  204. 
Karcisae,  51,  59. 
Natural  rights,  89. 

Nature,  6,  8  tqq.,  22,  80,  88,  97, 100  sq., 
102,  107,  117,  120  sq.,  175, 187,  218, 


222  note,  223,  229  «9.,  384;  law  of, 

9  sqq.  ;  state  of,  8  tqq. 
Necessity,  120, 

Necker  de  Saussure,  Mde.,  240. 
Neo-Catholios,  227. 
Nench&tel,  41,  65. 

New  Hiloiise,  62  »q.,  210, 215, 224  nott. 
Noblesse  oblige,  119. 
Notation,  musical,  51. 
Nyon,  82,  41. 


Obscurantism,  160,  225. 
Overfloul,  281. 
Ovid  iMetamorpho$ti)t  3t. 
Oyster's  unirerte,  97,  ISl. 


Pantheon,  71. 

Paris,  42,  47  sqq.,  69  »qq.,  1T5,  ITT. 

Pascal,  Blaise,  8. 

Passions,  159. 

Patria/rcha,  16. 

Pays  de  Vaud,  82. 

Pension  offered  to  RonssAati,  %X. 

Perception,  152. 

Persijleur,  Le,  56. 

Persona,  11  note  8. 

Pestalozzi,  287  »q. 

Peter  the  Great,  98. 

Philopistism,  226  and  note  2. 

Philosophy  of  Rousseau,  85,  224. 

Plato,  6  and  note  2,  7,  98,  187,  168 

note. 
Plutarch  {Lives),  27. 
Politeness,  174. 
Political  Economy,  264. 
Political  right,  196  sq. 
Pontverre,  M.  de,  36. 
Poor,  education  of  the,  106  nott. 
Poplars,  Isle  of,  70. 
Port  Royal  Logic,  45. 
Postulates  of  Pure  Reason,  106,  224. 
Praxiteles,  216  sq. 
Princes,  16. 
Problem  of  society,  86. 
Property,  private,  284  $q. 
Protestantism,  227. 


INDEX 


251 


QuintlllAii,  141  note  1. 

R 

Beading,  184. 

Beason,  6,  8,  22  «q.,  138. 

Recreation,  151. 

Reflection,  151. 

Reformation,  its  ciaims,  5,  7. 

Reformers,  6. 

Religion,  168,  166,  182  $qq.,  22T. 

Renaissance,  its  claims,  5  sq. 

Revelation,  8  aq.,  22  sq.,  86,  98. 

Jiiveriet,  TO. 

Revolution,  American,  23S. 

Riding,  180. 

Ritschl,  227. 

Bobben  (ScMller's),  229. 

Robespierre,  227. 

Robina&n  Crusoe,  148  aqq.,  164,  210. 

Romanticism,  224. 

Rome,  165. 

Bomola  (George  Eliot's),  104  note  2. 

Roamini,  119  note,  240  sqq.  and  notes. 

Rousseau,  Jean-Jacques,  character 
and  importance,  8,  27;  individual- 
ism, 4 ;  outcome  of  Renaissance,  5 ; 
follows  Hobbes,  8 ;  literary  style, 
26 ;  birth,  parentage,  and  education, 
2&8qq.;  his  brother,  26  7io<e;  tem- 
perament, 28 ;  at  Bossey,  29 ;  sen- 
suality, 81 ;  return  to,  and  life  at, 
Geneva,  81 ;  apprenticeship,  32  sq.  ; 
a  tramp,  88  sqq.  ;  his  master's  char- 
acter, 34;  becomes  a  Catholic  and 
goes  to  Mde.  de  Warens,  86 ;  crosses 
the  Alps  to  Turin,  36 ;  Ufe  there, 
87  sq. ;  theft,  cruelty,  lying,  and 
Indecency,  38;  tramps  back  to 
Chamb^ry,  89 ;  deserts  musician 
in  Lyons,  89  sq. ;  is  deserted  by 
Mde.  de  Warens,  41 ;  meets  his 
father  at  Nyon  and  goes  to  Frei- 
burg, 41 ;  turns  music-teacher  at 
Lausanne  and  Neuchatel,  41 ;  fol- 
lows Greek  archimandrite,  but  is 
rescued  from  him  at  Soleure,  42 ; 
goea  on  foot  to  Paris,  42  ;  leaves  it 


and  goes  south,  learning  on  the  way 
the  condition  of  the  people,  42  sq. ; 
returns  to  Mde.  de  Warens,  43 ; 
relations  with  her,  44 ;  becomes 
surveyor's  clerk,  44;  throws  up 
employment,  44 ;  tries  again  to 
teach  music,  44;  new  relations  with 
Mde.  de  Warens,  45;  reads  Latin, 
geometry,  philosophy,  etc.,  45; 
BuflFers  from  languors,  vapors,  and 
fear  of  hell,  45 ;  becomes  an  invalid, 
and  goes  to  Montpellier ;  vulgar  in- 
trigue on  the  way,  46 ;  "  virtuously  " 
returns  to  Mde.  de  Warens,  to  find 
his  place  taken  ;  first  sense  of  duty, 
46 ;  leaves  Chamb^ry  for  Paris,  47  ; 
review  of  early  life  and  character, 
48 ;  reception  in  Paris ;  ill  success 
of  musical  project ;  meets  Fonte- 
nelle  and  Diderot,  51 ;  secretary  of 
embassy  in  Venice ;  experiences 
there,  52;  returns  to  Paris,  and 
lodges  near  the  Luxembourg ;  meet* 
ThC'r^se  Le  Vasseur  (1744),  58  ;  life 
with  her,  54;  spends  autumn  of 
1747  at  Chenonceau ;  child  born  and 
exposed ;  fate  of  other  children, 
55 ;  has  a  revelation  due  to  Dijon 
Academy's  prize-offer,  56  sq.  ;  wina 
the  prize,  58 ;  performance  of  his 
operas,  59 ;  second  discourse,  on 
Inequality,  60  ;  visits  Geneva  with 
Therdse  and  returns  to  Protestant- 
ism, 60 ;  goes  to  the  Hermitage  at 
Montmorency,  and  gives  himself 
up  to  dreaming  and  his  passion 
for  Mde.  d'Houdetot,  61  ;  quarrela 
with  Mde.  d'^pinay  and  moves  to 
village  of  Montmorency ;  wrltea 
Ketv  nHolse,  Social  Contract,  and 
£mile,  62  sq.  ;  becomes  acquainted 
with  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Luxem- 
bourg ;  J^mile  condemned,  68  sq. ; 
persecution  and  flight;  Levite  of 
Ephraim,  65;  stops  at  Yrerdun, 
65;  settles  at  Motiers,  and  is  be- 
friended by  Marshal  Keith,  66 ; 
driven  thence,  settles  on  Isl*  of  St. 


262 


INDEX 


Peter,  66 ;  driven  thence,  goes,  via 
Paris,  with  Hume  to  England,  67 ; 
success  in  London,  67 ;  settles  at 
Wootton,  68 ;  quarrels  with  Hume, 

68  sg.;  returns  to  France,  69;  moves 
about  to  Trye  (near  Gisors),  Gre- 
noble, Bourgoin  (where  he  infor- 
mally marries  Therese),  Monquin, 

69  ;  returns  to  Paris  and  lives  there 
for  eight  years ;  his  Dialogues, 
Reveries,  etc.,  written  ;  goes  to  Er- 
menonville,  dies  and  is  buried,  70 ; 
ashes  removed  to  Pantheon,  71 ; 
his  character,  71-76;  inventor  of 
manual  training,  145 ;  his  ideal  of 
life,  177  sq.  ;  his  ethics,  184  note  2, 
185 ;  his  influence,  211  sqq.  ;  defects 
of  his  system,  211  sqq. ;  eflfect  on 
religion,  227 ;  father  of  democracy, 
232. 

Ruskin,  231  note. 

Eussia  and  Bussians,  93  note. 

S 

St.  Andiol,  46. 

St.  Esprit,  46. 

St.  Just,  227. 

St.  Peter,  Isle  of,  66, 

Savage  life,  99. 

Savoy,  36. 

Savoyard  Vicar,  88,  40,  64,  165  aqq., 

224  note  2,  226. 
8c£3vola,  Mucius,  28. 
Schiller,  211,  229. 
Schopenhauer,  208  note. 
Science,  133. 
Scythians,  196. 
Sensations,  152. 
Sepulchre,  Holy,  42. 
Sexuality,  157,  217. 
Shakespeare,  9  note,  100  note  1,  220 

note. 
Slavery,  209,  220. 
Small-pox,  130. 
Smell,  sense  of,  132. 
Smith,  Joseph,  91. 
Social  Contract,  62,  77,  78  sqq.,  197, 

198  note. 


Socialism,  4,  284  sqq. 

Social  Sympathies,  160  iqq. 

Society,  161. 

Socrates,  7,  79. 

Soleure,  42. 

Solitaries,  The,  208  sqq. 

Sophie,  185  sqq.,  203  sqq. 

Sophists,  79. 

Sophocles,  128  note. 

Soul,  nature  of,  243. 

Sovereign,  11  sq.,  87  sqq. 

Space,  132, 

Spectator,  The,  192. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  125  note  8. 

Spinoza,  145  note  1, 164  note. 

Steinthal,  239  note  2. 

Stoicism,    190,    199,    215,    218,    222, 

234  sq. 
Subjectivism,  1. 
Swimming,  130. 

T 

Tacitus,  161  note. 

Taste,  175. 

Taxation,  235. 

TeUmaque,  186, 192. 

Tennyson,  25  note,  11,  92  note,  144 

note,  156,  203,  211,  224  note  2. 
Therese  Le  Vasseur,  53  sqq.,  58  sqq., 

68  «g. 
Thoreau,  H.  D.,  144  note. 
Thucydides,  161  note. 
Travelling,  195  sqq. 
Trent,  Council  of,  4. 
Turin,  86  sq. 

U 

Unitarianism,  227. 
Unsocial  education,  218. 
Usefulness,  141  sq. 
Utopia,  93. 

V 
Vaccination,  130. 
Vanity,  141  note  1. 
Venice,  52. 

Vercellis,  Mde.  de,  3T  sq. 
Vincennes,  56  sq. 

Voltaire,  5,  25,  60,  68  sq.,  67,  68,  88, 
226,  227,  229. 


INDEX 


253 


Walden  (Thoreau's),  144  note. 

Walpole,  Horace,  68  note. 

Warens,  Md«.  de,36,  39  sqq.,'^aqq., 

187  note. 
Werther,  Sorrows  of,  229. 
Wilhelm  Meister,  25  note. 
Wm,  general,  90, 
WiUers,  24. 
Women,  ITS  sqq.,  217. 
Wootton,  68  sq. 
Wordsworth,    99,    151    note    1,    230 

note  2. 


Work,  duty  of,  145  »q. 

Writing,  135. 

Wundt,  WUh.,  239  note  2. 


Xenophon,  161  not*. 
Y 


Youth,  178  sqq. 
Yverdun,  65. 


Z 


Zamori  (von  Kleist's),  210. 


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ARISTOTLE. 


The  whole  of  ancient  pedagogy  is  Professor  Davidson's  subject,  the 
course  of  education  being  traced  up  to  Aristotle, — an  account  of  whose 
life  and  system  forms,  of  course,  the  main  portion  of  the  book, — and 
down  from  that  great  teacher,  as  well  as  philosopher,  through  the  decline 
of  ancient  civilization.  An  appendix  discusses  *•  The  Seven  Liberal  Arts," 
and  paves  the  way  for  the  next  work  in  chronological  sequence, — Professor 
West's,  on  Alcuin.  The  close  relations  between  Greek  education  and 
Greek  social  and  political  life  are  kept  constantly  in  view  by  Professor 
Davidson.  A  special  and  very  attractive  feature  of  the  work  is  the  cita- 
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* '  I  am  very  glad  to  see  this  excellent  contribution  to  the  history  of  educa- 
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profitable  in  the  entire  history  of  culture. ' '— W.  T.  Harris,  U.  S.  Commistiomr 

of  Education. 

** '  Aristotle  '  is  delightful  reading.  I  know  nothing  in  English  that  covers 
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than  that  you  may  do  so. ' '— G.  Stanlev  Hall,  Clark  University. 

ALCUIN. 

Professor  West  aims  to  develop  the  story  of  educational  institutions 
in  Europe  from  the  beginning  of  the  influence  of  Christianity  on  education 
to  the  origin  of  the  Universities  and  the  first  beginnings  of  the  modern 
movement.  A  careful  analysis  is  made  of  the  effects  of  Greek  and 
Roman  thought  on  the  educational  theory  and  practice  of  the  early 
Christian,  and  their  great  system  of  schools,  and  its  results  are  studied 
with  care  and  in  detail.  The  personality  of  Alcuin  enters  largely  into  the 
story,  because  of  his  dominating  influence  in  the  movemenL 

"Die  von  Ihnen  mir  freundlichst  zugeschickte  Schrift  des  Herm  Professor 
West  uber  Alcuin  babe  ich  mit  lebhaftem  Interesse  gelesen  und  bin  tiberrascht 
davon  in  Nord  America  eine  so  eingehende  Beschaftigung  mit  unserer  Vorzeit 
und  eine  so  ausgebreitete  Kenntniss  der  Literature  Uber  diesen  Gegenstand  zu 
findsn.  Es  sind  mir  wohl  Einzelheiten  begegnet  an  denen  ich  etwas  auszu- 
setzen  fand,  die  ganze  Auffassung  und  Darstellung  aber  kann  ich  nur  als  sehr 
v/ohl  gelungen  und  zutreffend  bezeichnen. '  '—Professor  Wattenbach,  Berlin. 

' '  I  take  pleasure  in  saying  that  '  Alcuin '  seems  to  me  to  combine  carefn.\, 
scholarly  investigation  with  popularity,  and  condensation  with  interest  or  4»" 
tftU,  in  a  truly  admirable  way. '  '—Professor  G.  T.  Ladd,  qf  Vait, 


THB  QBE  A  T  ED  UGA  TORE 

ABELARD. 

M.  Compayre,  the  well-known  French  educationist,  has  prepared  in  this 
volume  an  account  of  the  origin  of  the  great  European  Universities 
that  is  at  once  the  most  scientific  and  the  most  interesting  in  the  English 
language.  Naturally  the  University  of  Paris  is  the  central  figure  in  the 
account ;  and  the  details  of  its  early  organization  and  influence  are  fully 
given.  Its  connection  with  the  other  great  universities  of  the  Middle 
Ages  and  with  modern  university  movement  is  clearly  pointed  out. 
Abelard,  whose  system  of  teaching  and  disputation  was  one  of  the  earliest 
signs  of  the  rising  universities,  is  the  typical  figure  of  the  movement;  and 
M.  Compayre  has  given  a  sketch  of  his  character  and  work,  from  an 
entirely  new  po:i?t  of  viewj  that  is  most  instructive. 

* '  •  Abelard  '  may  fairly  be  called  the  founder  of  university  education  in 
Europe^  and  we  have  in  this  volume  a  description  of  his  work  and  a  car«ful 
analysis  of  his  Cuara^cter.  As  the  founder  of  the  great  Paris  University  in  the 
thirteenth  century  the  importance  of  his  work  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 
The  chapter  devoted  to  Abelard  himself  is  an  intensely  interesting  one,  and  the 
other  chapters  are  of  marked  value,  devoted  as  they  are  to  the  origin  and  early 
history  of  universities.  .  .  .  The  volume  is  a  notable  educational  work."— 
BoMoH  Daily  Traveler. 

LOYOLA. 

This  work  is  a  critical  and  authoritative  statement  of  the  educational 
principles  and  method  adopted  in  the  Society  of  Jesus,  of  which  the 
author  is  a  distinguished  member.  The  first  part  is  a  sketch,  biograph- 
ical and  historical,  of  the  dominant  and  directing  personality  of  Ignatius, 
the  Founder  of  the  order,  and  his  comrades,  and  of  the  establishment  and 
early  administrations  of  the  Society.  In  the  second  an  elaborate  analysis 
of  the  system  of  studies  is  given,  beginning  with  an  account  of  Aquaviva 
and  the  Ratio  Studiorum,  and  considering,  under  the  general  heading  of 
"the  formation  of  the  master, "  courses  of  literature  and  philosophy,  of 
divinity  and  allied  sciences,  repetition,  disputation,  and  dictation ;  and 
under  that  of  "formation  of  the  scholar,"  symmetry  of  the  courses  pur- 
sued, the  prelection,  classic  literatures,  school  management  and  control, 
^examinations  and  graduation,  grades  and  courses. 

••  This  volume  on  St.  Ignatips  of  '  Loyola  and  the  Educational  System  of  the 
Jesuits, '  by  the  Rev.  Thomas  Hughes,  will  probably  be  welcomed  by  others  be- 
sides those  specially  interested  in  the  theories  and  methods  of  education. 
Written  by  a  member  of  the  Jesuit  Society,  it  comes  to  us  witk  authority,  and 
preeents  a  complete  and  well  -  arranged  survey  of  the  work  of  educational 
developme-it  carried  out  by  Ignatius  and  his  followers." —/^tfw^^n  Saturday 
R«wm%u. 

FROEBSL. 

Friedrich  Froebel  stands  for  the  movement  known  both  in  Europe 
and  in  this  country  as  the  New  Education,  more  completely  than  any 
other  single  name.  The  kindergarten  movement,  and  the  whole  de- 
"welopment  of  modern  methods  of  teaching,  have  been  largely  stimulated 
b^,  if  not  entirely  based  upon,  his  philosophical  exposition  of  education. 
It  is  not  believed  that  any  other  account  of  Froebel  and  his  work  is  so 
complete  and  exhaustive,  as  the  author  has  for  many  years  been  a  student 
of  Froebel' s  principles  and  methods  not  only  in  books,  but  also  in  actuai 
practice  in  the  kindergarten       Mr.  Bowen  is  a  frequent  examiner  of  kin 


TBM  GREAT  EDUCATUUS 

(ierrarc«&8,  of  tht  children  in  them,  and  of  students  who  «r«  trained  to  bo 

kindergarten  teachers. 

"  No  one,  in  England  or  America,  is  fitted  to  give  a  more  sympathetic  or  lucid 
interpretation  of  Froebel  than  Mr.  Cottrthope  Bowen.  .  .  .  Mr.  Bowen's  hook 
will  he  a  most  important  addition  to  any  llhrary,  and  no  student  of  Proehel  oaa 
aJBord  to  do  without  it.  * ' — Kate  Douglas  Wiggin,  Ntw  Ytrk  City, 

HERBART. 

In  this  book,  President  De  Garmo  has  given,  for  the  first  time  in  the 
English  language,  a  systematic  analysis  of  the  Herbartian  theory  of  ed- 
ucation, which  is  now  so  much  studied  and  discussed  in  Great  Britain 
<ind  the  United  States,  as  well  as  in  Germany.  Not  only  does  the 
volume  contain  an  exposition  of  the  theory  as  expounded  by  Herbart 
himself,  but  it  traces  in  detail  the  development  of  that  theory  and  the 
additions  to  it  made  by  such  distinguished  names  as  Ziller,  Story,  Frick, 
Rein,  and  the  American  School  of  Herbartians.  Especially  valuable  will 
be  found  Dr.  De  Garmo' s  careful  and  systematic  exposition  of  the  prob- 
lems that  centre  around  the  concentration  and  correlation  of  studies. 
These  problems  are  generally  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  pressing  and 
important  at  present  before  the  teachers  of  the  country. 

"  Some  one  hat  aald  there  can  be  no  great  need  without  the  meane  of  eupply- 
ing  snch  need,  and  no  sooner  did  the  fraternity  realize  its  need  of  a  knowledge 
of  the  essentials  of  Herbart  than  Dr.  De  Garmo's  excellent  work  on '  Herbart  and 
the  Herbartians,*  by  Scribner's  Sons  of  New  York,  appeared,  a  book  which, 
costing  but  a  dollar,  gives  all  that  the  teacher  really  needs,  and  gives  it  with 
devout  loyalty  and  sensible  discrimination.  It  is  the  work  of  a  believer,  a  de- 
votee, an  enthusiast,  but  it  is  the  masterpiece  of  the  writer  who  has  not  for- 
gotten what  he  owes  to  his  reputation  as  a  scholar  in  his  devotion  to  his 
master." — Journal  0/  Education. 

THE  ARNOLDS. 

No  book  heretofore  published  concemine  one  or  both  of  v  the  Arnolds 

has  accomplished  the   task  performed   in   the   present   instance   by  Sir 

Joshua  Fitch.     A  long-time  colleague  of  Matthew  Arnold  in  the  British 

Educational  Department,  the  author — leaving  biography  aside — has,  with 

unusual  skill,  written  a  succinct  and  fascinating  account  of  the  important 

services  rendered  to  the  educational   interests   of  Great   Britain   by  the 

Master  of  Rugby  and  his  famous  son.     The  varied  and  successful  efforts 

of  the  latter  in  behalf  of  a  better  secondary  education  during  his  long 

official  career  of  thirty-five  years  as  Inspector  of  Training  Schools,   no 

less  than  the  notabla  effect  produced  at  Rugby  by  the  inspiring  example 

of  Thomas  Arnold's  high-minded  character  and  enthusiastic  scholarship, 

are  admirably  presented.     Whatever  in  the  teaching  of  both  seems  likely 

to  prove  of  permanent  value  has  been  judiciously  selected  by  the  author 

from  the  mass  of  their  writings,  and  incorporated  in  the  present  volume. 

The  American  educational  public,  which  cannot  fail  to  acknowledge  a 

lasting  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  Arnolds,  father  and  son,  will  certainlv  wel- 

come  this  sympathetic  exposition  of  their  influence  and  opinions. 

•'  The  book  is  opportune,  for  the  Amoldian  tradition,  though  widely  diffused 
in  America,  is  not  well  based  on  accurate  knowledge  and  is  pretty  much  in 
the  air.  Dr.  Fitch  seems  the  fittest  person  by  reason  of  his  spiritual  sympathy 
with  the  father  and  his  personal  association  with  the  son,  to  sketch  in  this  brief 
way  the  two  most  typical  modem  English  educators.  And  he  has  done  his  work 
almost  ideally  well  within  his  limitations  of  purpose.  .  .  .  Tht  two  men 
Uve  in  these  naees  as  thev  wm«.  '  * — Educational  R^vin»~  New  York. 


I 


i 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subjea  to  immediate  recall. 


J 


LD. 

a 


RECEIVED  [EC  13  1978 


M    1 '67-10  AM 


BfC, 


NOV  24  1987  36' 


ciB.  DEC    1  1978 


_A  RECtjvuD 


NOV  2  2 '67  il  AM 


—         l.OAN  DPTPT, 


^^^ 


stH^'QlP    JUNi2'73--'PT^l4^ 


LD  21A-60m-2,'67 
(H241slO)476B 


General  Librar 
University  of  Calf 
Berkeley 


)41oj 


'■V. 


Q         4  »-  ^  '  ' '   '  U 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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